Prankster, p.17
Prankster, page 17
Jake stepped into the ball pit, and as soon as he did, the pit started taking him. He let the ball pit pull him down. And down. And down. It felt kind of like sinking into a pool of water. All he had to do was relax and let himself drift downward.
So that’s what he did. He sank lower and lower. As soon as he did, he was no longer aware of the pit. He wasn’t aware of anything physical at all.
* * *
Millie flinched when a low-hanging fir branch brushed against her cheek. She batted it away and peered into the darkness beyond it. Where was her grandpa’s house? She’d just been there, hadn’t she? How could she have gotten this lost?
Millie tugged her black sweater tighter around her. She rubbed her arms to get warm. She felt really chilled—even though the night wasn’t that cold.
Before she’d left the house, she hadn’t wanted to be at the stupid Christmas dinner with all her stupid relatives. But now, for reasons she didn’t understand, that was the only place she wanted to be.
And, of course, because she wanted it, she couldn’t have it. She never got what she wanted. She was always forced to do what everyone else wanted her to do. Her parents. Her grandpa. The teachers at school. It wasn’t fair.
Nearby, a crow cawed. Millie jumped and spun around. She heard a rustling in the undergrowth, and she tried to see into the darkness.
When nothing moved, she started walking again.
Millie thought she’d only been out here for a few minutes. So why did it feel like she’d been wandering for a very long time?
Before she could ponder that question, the foliage rustled again, and this time, a hand reached through it. Millie gasped and stopped dead.
A little boy was stepping out from the middle of a huckleberry bush. Millie stared at him, poised to run if he was a threat.
He didn’t look like a threat, though. With a round freckled face, bright green eyes, a big smile, and a thick tangle of brown curls that fell into his eyes, the boy looked really nice actually. Millie found herself smiling at him, in spite of herself.
“You lost?” the boy asked.
Millie shook her head even though she was.
“I’m Jake,” the boy said. Then he took Millie’s hand.
To her surprise, Millie didn’t resist at all. Instead, she let the boy—Jake—lead her through the woods.
He didn’t lead her for long, though. In what felt like an instant, Jake was there and then gone. He disappeared, and Millie found herself on her grandpa’s front porch.
Through the big picture window, Millie could see her family gathering around the table. Behind them, the Christmas tree was lit up just like it had been when she’d left the house. And for some reason, Millie was happy to see it. She was happy to see her family, too.
Not sure why she felt so good all of a sudden—but not really caring, Millie rushed across the porch. She threw open the door and ran into the room. Her grandpa greeted her with a smile and a hug, which Millie … for once … was happy to receive.
For the first time she could remember, Millie felt like she was home.
* * *
Inside the abandoned restaurant, dust motes danced in the silence. The ball pit hunkered in the corner as usual—totally still.
Or, maybe not totally.
Although the plastic balls weren’t moving, suddenly, one of them lit up. It lit up and turned from ruddy red to shining gold. Then it turned clear, like a sparkling crystal ball.
Within the glistening glass orb, a tiny scene flared into view. The scene was that of a family Christmas—laughing people gathered around a table near a Christmas tree. In the center of the group of people, a young girl dressed all in black smiled as if she hadn’t smiled in a long time.
Around this bright clear ball and its inviting scene, other balls in the ball pit began morphing from filthy plastic to brilliant transparent glass. Every glass ball lit up with its own little happy scene.
Soon all the plastic balls were shimmering. They all twinkled like dazzling stars in a clear night sky.
* * *
Larson sat in Dr. Talbert’s living room. It seemed strange to be sitting on the sofa in the very room where he had lain on the floor as the Stitchwraith finally put an end to Eleanor. At that time he would have said he would never return to this house.
But he had to. He was a detective, and he still had questions.
Dr. Talbert sat in the armchair across from him. “How can I help you, Detective?”
“There was just one more thing I wanted to clear up,” Larson said. “It’s out of my own personal curiosity, really. Remnant—what is it? Is it some kind of … magic?”
As a younger man, Larson would never have thought magic was even a vague possibility. But he had seen lots of strange things since then.
Talbert sighed. “Remnant is …” He paused.
“In nonscientific terms, it’s like the metal is haunted. It’s more complicated than that, of course, but it’s similar to the way that water conducts electricity. Remnant is the mixing of the tangible with the intangible, of memory with the present. The people and things that are lost—it makes them almost real again.” Talbert had a sad, faraway look in his eyes. “You know, when Renelle was a little girl, she was sick. She was in and out of the hospital on an almost-constant basis. I was scared—terrified, really—that she would die. I stayed up nights trying to think of ways to protect her. I made this little pendant for her out of Remnant. That way, I figured I could never lose her entirely.”
“Do you still have the pendant?” Larson asked.
“Yes. Would you like to see it?”
Larson nodded.
Talbert left the room and came back holding a chain from which a heart-shaped pendant dangled. He held it at a distance from his body, between his finger and thumb, the same way one might hold a dead mouse by the tail. Still, the necklace looked like an ordinary piece of jewelry any young girl might wear. Larson was sure no one ever gave it a second glance.
“It was a terrible mistake to create this,” Talbert said, looking down at the necklace. “It was my obsession in creating this that caused me to lose Renelle in the first place.”
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” Larson said. “If it’s haunted, then haunted by what?”
Talbert didn’t meet Larson’s eyes. He held out the pendant. “Here, why don’t you take it?”
Larson was confused. “Me?”
“Yes,” Talbert said. “Take it. Do what you want with it. I honestly can’t even bear to look at it anymore.”
Talbert dropped the pendant into Larson’s palm. It felt so small, so insignificant.
Talbert walked Larson to the door. “Thank you for stopping by, Detective. And thank you for taking the pendant off my hands. Maybe now I can turn the page and start a new chapter in my life, with my real daughter.”
Once Larson was on the sidewalk, he heard a soft, high-pitched sound. He looked around for the source of the noise and discovered it was coming from the pendant in his palm. It was like it was singing a song but too softly for Larson to make out the words. He held up the pendant to inspect it, and the sun shone through it. It was dazzling.
Copyright © 2021 by Scott Cawthon. All rights reserved.
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First printing 2021
Cover design by Jeff Shake
e-ISBN 978-1-338-78597-5
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Scott Cawthon, Prankster
