“Of course you should be a writer,” said Eddie. “You love writing.”

“But I’m beginning to think I’m not any good!” said Mom. “I read you that epic poem I wrote last week. It was ridiculous!” She threw her arms wide and said in a deep, dramatic voice, “How woebegone was Constance Meade? She had one glass eye and couldn’t read! What was I thinking? I don’t even know what I want to write anymore. Forget this rhyming stuff… I’ve got to find a great story to tell.”

Eddie walked across the room to his bed, sat down on his mattress, and took off his sneakers. “New town, new stories. Isn’t that what Dad said?”

“He did say that, didn’t he? The funny thing is… I think I might actually have an idea for a new story,” said Mom. “Thanks for letting me borrow this.” She waved the book. “Let’s hope this Nathaniel Olmstead person knows what he’s doing.”

“He knows,” Eddie said. “I’m sure of it.”

Mom went back downstairs. After unpacking some more boxes, Eddie spent some time hunched over his desk scanning the mysterious book, searching for a clue. After staring at the page, the letters all started to blend together, and he couldn’t concentrate.

To clear his head, Eddie hauled the library book out of his bag. He went through it slowly, trying to understand the confusing academic writing, but ultimately, the book wasn’t much help. For a while, there didn’t seem to be anything in it that resembled the code in The Enigmatic Manuscript.

Finally, in a chapter called “The Science of the Secret Message,” he came across a symbol similar to the one written on the first page of the book. The symbol was called pi. Memories of Mrs. Benson’s math class came back to Eddie. He already knew pi was a Greek letter that stood for 3.14; still, he tried to read more about it. The letter represented a constant relationship between the circumference and diameter of a circle. But he didn’t see what that had to do with anything.

Just before dinner, Eddie’s father finally managed to set up the Internet connection. Thinking about what the tow truck driver had said, Eddie searched for a link between the names “Jeremy” and “Gatesweed.” Near the top of the page, he found what he was looking for: a headline for an archived article in a journal called The Black Hood Herald. The article described an investigation, which had occurred almost twenty years earlier, into the disappearance of a twelve-year-old boy from his bedroom one October night. His name had been Jeremy Quakerly.

This must be the boy Sam had been talking about, Eddie thought. His childhood friend had disappeared. How horrible… But what did this have to do with the supposed Olmstead Curse? The article didn’t mention anything about curses.

Next, Eddie searched for the words “Olmstead Curse.” He received several results, but one paragraph leapt clearly off the screen. It was from a Web site called Cassandra’s Calendar, posted several years ago.

Some citizens of Gatesweed are calling these incidents the unfortunate consequence of the aptly named “Olmstead Curse.” Local superstition says the author’s stories have wreaked havoc on the town itself. As strange as it may seem, many blame the missing author himself for the recent closing of the Black Ribbon Mill. Representatives for Mr. Olmstead pass off such comments as unsubstantiated hogwash. Outside of Gatesweed, such hogwash continues to work wonders for the author’s sales…

Weird, thought Eddie. He read through several more search results. From the articles, Eddie gathered that, for some reason, people in Gatesweed believed Nathaniel Olmstead’s stories were dangerous. Eddie didn’t understand.

How could words be dangerous?

More important, Eddie still wasn’t sure if there was a connection between the supposed curse and the book his mother had found in the barn. Certainly, the biggest clue of the day had been the bookstore. Now at least Eddie knew where the book had come from. He wondered if the blond boy who smelled like bug spray would be at school tomorrow. It was possible that they might even be in the same classes. If he could get up the nerve, Eddie would have another chance to ask for his help. As he went downstairs for dinner, he decided that’s what he would do.

The first day of school, Eddie kept embarrassing himself.

During homeroom, Ms. Phelps made him introduce himself. As he’d already learned, new kids were rare to Gatesweed. Everyone already seemed to know each other. Eddie was so nervous and spoke so quietly, Ms. Phelps forced him to repeat everything he said. Twice! His face burned when his new classmates rolled their eyes at him.

In the cafeteria line, Eddie meant to ask the lunch lady for a tuna melt, but he stammered when he ordered and accidentally called it a tuba melt. Everyone behind him started laughing; one boy made farting noises.

Finally, after lunch, he bumped into a girl, knocking her book bag off her shoulder. He’d been thinking about the code and didn’t see her coming around the corner. “I’m so sorry!” said Eddie, helping pick up the bag. He half expected her to start complaining, but instead she barely looked at him.

“It’s fine. I can get it,” said the girl.

She wore a faded black T-shirt, worn-out black jeans, and boots that looked as if they’d been boiled. Her stringy hair hung down either side of her face, tucked behind her big ears. Her skin was pale, but her eyes were dark circles. She looked like a character he imagined would live in a Nathaniel Olmstead book. He realized he was staring, and he felt his face turning red. But before he could introduce himself, the girl blinked at him, fixed her bag, and walked briskly away.

“Nice one,” said someone from across the hallway.

When Eddie turned, he saw the blond boy from the bookstore standing near Eddie’s locker with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a navy blue polo shirt and dark jeans; he no longer smelled like bug spray. Eddie felt his stomach clench. Last night, he’d imagined that the boy would be here at school, but after yesterday, Eddie thought he would have to track him down to ask for his help. Now he felt unprepared.

“You might want to stay away from her,” said the boy.

“Who-who is she?” said Eddie as he put away the textbooks he’d been given that morning.

“Freaky Maggie Ringer. She lives up near the Olmstead estate.”

Eddie blushed. “Why do you think she’s a freak?”

“Look at her.”

“Because she dresses in black?”

“Well… yeah. And she doesn’t have any friends.”

Eddie knew what that felt like. “That doesn’t mean she’s a freak.”

“If you say so,” said the boy. He tugged at his belt loop anxiously. After a moment, he said, “I’m Harris. Harris May. From the bookstore yesterday?”

“Uh, yeah, I remember you,” said Eddie. “I’m Eddie.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you lived here?” said Harris. “In Gatesweed,” he added.

“I didn’t really have time,” said Eddie. “You sorta took off.”

Harris blushed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I never saw you before. Everyone knows everyone else in this town, but sometimes weird people pass through… I thought you were-”

“One of them?” said Eddie. “Gee, thanks.”

Harris laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… Wally was watching you.”

“Wally?” said Eddie.

“The one cop this town can afford to keep on its force,” said Harris. “He doesn’t like Olmstead hunters.” “Olmstead hunters?”

“Fans. They’re my mom’s biggest customers. Nobody else ever really comes to Gatesweed. When you mentioned the Olmstead Curse stuff…” He sighed. “Wally had stopped by in the morning, before you showed up. He spent, like, an hour interrogating me about the new graffiti in the park. He thinks I had something to do with it.”

“Did you?”

Harris smirked. “No,” he said simply. “It’s actually really annoying. Every few months something else appears. Wally usually blames me.”