The Strange Treasures of Gramma Zulov: The Sibylline Books - Book I

By Alex Ross Carol

Book Summary:
When a young boy, Willie, finds a series of strange, old books in the attic of his great-grandmother’s house, things go from curious to terrifying. Soon, he embroils his entire family in a dark, menacing world where the magic of the books is sought for riches and power.
Born from the ruins of ancient Greece and the Oracle at Delphi two thousand years earlier, the books have a mystical past and even more mysterious future. Willie, his mother Raya, and his older brother Daniel begin a hunt for the secrets behind the books after Daniel’s life is suddenly threatened. Unfortunately, the answers they find lead them on a journey into the heights and depths of the power brokers in Washington, D.C. and the politicians who occupy the offices. The year is 2028, and it’s an election year. Some in that town are willing to do anything to get their hands on books that foretell the future – even kill for them.
The final scenes lead to a tumultuous conclusion, as good and evil fight for possession of the books –ones that prophesy the outcome of the election and the fate of an entire nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue M Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463342459

Alex Ross Carol

Alex Ross Carol is a pen name of the author who uses it for books he creates of a certain genre. Mr. Carol has written fantasy and adventure novels. He lives with his family in Chicago.

Book preview

Book Summary

When a young boy, Willie, finds a series of strange, old books in the attic of his great-grandmother’s house, things go from curious to terrifying. Soon, he embroils his entire family in a dark, menacing world where the magic of the books is sought for riches and power.

Born from the ruins of ancient Greece and the Oracle at Delphi two thousand years earlier, the books have a mystical past and even more mysterious future. Willie, his mother Raya, and his older brother Daniel, begin a hunt for the secrets behind the books after Daniel’s life is suddenly threatened. Unfortunately, the answers they find lead them on a journey into the heights and depths of the power brokers in Washington, D.C. and the politicians who occupy the offices. The year is 2028, and it’s an election year. Some in that town are willing to do anything to get their hands on books that foretell the future – even kill for them.

The final scenes lead to a tumultuous conclusion, as good and evil fight for possession of the books –ones that prophesy the outcome of the election and the fate of an entire nation.

*****

Contents

Book Summary

The Strange Treasures of Gramma Zulov The Sibylline Books

Prologue

CH 1 The Attic

CH 2 The Estate Sale

CH 3 An Uninvited Guest

CH 4 KGB

CH 5 Officer Unfriendly

CH 6 Rendezvous

CH 7 Someplace to Go

CH 8 The Exchange

CH 9 Day at the Office

CH 10 Passport to Freedom

CH 11 More than a Keychain

CH 12 Silver-haired Man

CH 13 Javabucks

CH 14 Safe House

CH 15 Granddad Remembers

CH 16 Insight

CH 17 Up in Smoke

CH 18 On the Inside

CH 19 Off the Beaten Path

CH 20 Another Target

CH 21 Ditched

CH 22 Hawking Books

CH 23 Congresswoman Stower

CH 24 Antiquities Dealer

CH 25 CIA Drop

CH 26 Governor Ross

CH 27 Menaechmus

CH 28 Luce

CH 29 Iwo Jima

CH 30 Unyielding Trio

CH 31 Test Results

CH 32 The World Changes

CH 33 You’ve Got What I Want

CH 34 Call to Action

CH 35 The Whisperer

CH 36 Lions’ Den

CH 37 Coordinates

CH 38 A Forgotten Closet

CH 39 Kill Confirmed

CH 40 Tunnel to Infinity

CH 41 Daniel

CH 42 A Party in Turmoil

CH 43 The Niece

CH 44 Duel

CH 45 First Attempt

CH 46 Y

CH 47 Quid pro quo

CH 48 Collection at the Ellipse

CH 49 The Path Takes a Turn

CH 50 Three Trunks

CH 51 President Holmes

CH 52 Misdirection

CH 53 The Sword

CH 54 Buzzard’s Park

CH 55 Gramma’s Secret Agent

CH 56 VIP

CH 57 Whirlybird

CH 58 Saved

CH 59 Fate Turns Against

CH 60 Suspended

CH 61 To America

CH 62 Constitutional Panic

CH 63 Changing the Future

CH 64 President Takes Ill

CH 65 The Final Nail

CH 66 Election Night

CH 67 Market Street

CH 68 Ross v. Gould

CH 69 Invited In

CH 70 Oath of Office

CH 71 The Third Trunk

CH 72 Return to Sender

CH 73 The Attic Redux

About the Author

Book II – The Strange Treasures of Gramma Zulov – The Map of Ptah

Blue M Publishing

The Strange Treasures of Gramma Zulov

The Sibylline Books

Prologue

Washington, D.C. 2028

(Flash Forward)

High overhead Raya and Daniel heard the sound of rotating blades, slicing through the air. Although they could see little through the thick fog that had settled, it was clear a helicopter was landing nearby. There were no lights on the chopper, but as it descended it looked military – black and stealthy, with a hidden rotor on the back and angled thrusters on the side for heightened speed and agility. It took only seconds for it to drop from the sky and bounce in the middle of the park, sending loose garbage and gravel flying about the broken picnic tables.

First, two men in black combat uniforms jumped out, each carrying M-16 A4’s -- they meant business. Then two more positioned themselves behind them, standing on either side of the helicopter door. But instead of others emerging, the two marines in front ran toward Raya and Daniel, pointing their guns at them menacingly.

Get down! ordered the first soldier, threatening them with his rifle.

Raya and her son fell to the hard ground as one of the soldiers rolled them over, binding their wrists behind their backs with white, plastic zip bands. Raya rolled her head back toward the helicopter to see what was going on. She desperately wanted to get to Jack to see if he was alright, but that was not possible.

Someone has to check on those two men over there, yelled Raya, trying to be heard over the roar of the whirling blades.

Shut up! barked the commando. Don’t say another word.

Raya saw four more men exit the helicopter. They wore dark suits, and she assumed they were either Secret Service or even Special Ops. They scoured the area, shining their light into every bush and around every tree. Within minutes one of the men came out of the wooded area pushing a teenager in the back with his M-16.

Willie! exclaimed Raya, shouting to her son.

I said shut up! said the commando, this time kicking her in the ribs. The pain shot through her side and into her back making it hard for her to breathe.

Willie was shoved down with the rest of his family, where he too was forced to lie next to them with his wrists banded.

Raya whispered to him, Are you alright, Willie?

Yeah, I’ll be fine, said Willie, putting on his bravest face.

"I said, shut up and stay down on the ground! ordered the commando, growing increasingly agitated. He took his rifle and pressed the muzzle against Raya's temple until it hurt. I'll use this if I have to. Do you understand me? Raya put her head down. And I have extra rounds for the rest of ya' too, if that doesn't keep everyone quiet!"

*****

CH 1 The Attic

Indianapolis, 2028

The attic was cold, damp and musty. Willie knew he wasn’t supposed to be up there, but he always wondered what was in the room into which his great grandmother -- or Gramma as they called her -- had forbidden him to go. Neither he nor his older brother, Daniel, had been allowed in the attic while she had been alive. Even now, at age thirteen, Willie knew he’d be in trouble even if his mother found him up there. So, while his mother, grandmother and brother were downstairs sorting through Gramma’s possessions, he decided to sneak away and climb the narrow, winding staircase to the top floor.

Gramma’s official name, according to her passport, had been Tulia Zulov. Born in Romania, she had learned from her mother to be meticulous about keeping a clean house. Only those things she absolutely needed would be taken from storage and then put right back after she was finished using them. That meant that all the playthings for the great grandchildren were kept upstairs where they would be out of the way until they came over. But once every few months when Willie and his brother visited, she would trudge the rickety, tread-worn staircase and bring down an assortment of old toys with which to play or old books to read. But both the toys and the books were indeed old – things that Willie’s mother and probably even his grandmother had played with or read as children. There was even a book up there that talked about the new states of Alaska and Hawaii – something that happened way back in the 1950s.

But there was one game that Willie did enjoy playing, even though it seemed absolutely prehistoric to him. It was a marble game that was something like a pin-ball machine. It had a board with edges to keep the marble from rolling off once it was shot out of a spring-loaded canon and slid across a long shoot in the lower corner. The spring was cocked tightly by sliding a lever and then, with a push of a button, launching a little white marble into a narrow, guarded channel. The marble would bounce around various wire and wooden obstacles before either finding its way back to the bottom of the slanted board. If the player were lucky, the ball would land in a wire rung or get stuck in a hole made to trap it. Each rung or hole had a number below it showing the player how many points he or she had won. Willie would shriek with joy whenever he hit the big one – the 100, the highest point rung in the top center of the board. It would also make his usual opponent, Daniel, very angry. But inevitably Daniel would get one into the coveted slot too, and then it was his younger brother’s turn to pout. Willie would sit and stew for a while before being coaxed back into playing by his very persuasive sibling. Often it was the bribe of a piece of chocolate or an extra spoonful from Daniel’s dessert bowl later that day that would suffice.

Gramma’s house had always been a wonderful place to visit. With its wide, oak porch and wooden, slatted swing near the front door, it was perfect for kids. There were many hiding places around the old place – from the abandoned, red barn next door, which hadn’t seen a coat of paint in decades, to the pear orchard that grew on the neighbor’s property behind it. It seemed to be a good fit for Gramma, as she had lived there for over fifty years and had seen the neighborhood change and the town around her adjust to the booms and busts of people coming and leaving. Still, there were a few things she usually found to complain about: that the kitchen was too small and had too little counter space or that the part of the cellar by the empty coal bin got wet every time there was a heavy rain. Other times, she claimed she didn’t like how small the refrigerator was – the ice box as she used to call it -- or that the stove was electric rather than gas, or that its four coil burners were nearly impossible to clean when they got dirty.

In the corner of the kitchen was a narrow nook. It had bench seats that were built-in around a hand-made, walnut table that could only seat up to four comfortably. Surrounding the nook were double-hung windows, but they were never opened -- sealed shut by layers of white paint that had been applied and reapplied over the years.

As for the rest of the house, there wasn’t much that was unique or unusual about it. Grandpa Zulov had learned the carpenter trade after coming to America with Gramma. Unfortunately, he had spent most of his free time helping neighbors with their home projects rather than working on those needing attention at his own. He had remodeled the family room with imitation pine paneling back in the 1970s and thought about a lot of other improvements that never seemed to get done. He had bought a beige, leather Lazy-boy chair that sat prominently in the spot just opposite his prized 1963 Packard-Bell colored television. It was the first and last colored TV Grandpa had ever owned. He had kept it, even though eventually there had been no repairmen left in the area who could fix it. After Grandpa passed away, Gramma hadn’t used the room much, preferring to spend her time in her knitting room or baking in the kitchen. Without him, the place had become darker and quieter over the years, turning into something that more akin to a museum of ancient pottery and textiles than a home.

Willie stood just inside the forbidden attic doorway and pulled on the long, white cord that dropped down from the ceramic light fixture on the wall. It illuminated the two-foot-wide, auburn-stained stairs that wound upward toward the mysterious room above. The stairs peeled from the humidity and years of neglect – another project Grandpa had never quite gotten around to fixing. With trepidation, Willie slowly put one foot ahead of the other while listening for any sounds from below that hinted someone was coming his way. Once at the top, he took measure of his surroundings.

The attic was smaller than he thought it would be and less mysterious. He could see boxes stacked in neat rows along the sides of the pale, green walls. There were many, many boxes – particularly for such a fastidious housekeeper as was his Gramma. Many were old Xerox paper boxes, some old banana crates, and still others were moldy book boxes that his Gramma had probably used back in the early ‘60s when she and Grandpa had first moved into the two-story Victorian. In the corner of the room was a carefully stacked pile of National Geographic magazines. There were other magazine stacks too, but the bright yellow border of the National Geographic series caught his eye right away.

Willie went over to look at them. They were something that he didn’t see very often at school, at the library or anywhere else for that matter -- books and magazines made out of real paper. Most everything in his world was digitized, things he could easily and quickly find on the Internet whenever he wanted. The few libraries left in his community were mainly DeweyDec rooms or public places that were nothing more than a quiet room filled with small computer monitors and uncomfortable chairs. All the books and periodicals in the virtual library were stored on a computer somewhere -- perhaps in the next room or maybe thousands of miles away. One couldn’t be sure. It was usually the old people who still went there -- likely just to get out of their house occasionally.

Willie brushed away the dust on the top magazine to see the cover. It had a picture of an ape-like skull with a man standing behind it. The title read Early Man, and it was dated September 1960.

Wow! This is really old, thought Willie, valuing his newly-discovered treasure.

He picked it up and peeled back the front cover to peer inside. The slickness of the pages felt strange to him, but he liked how the paper looked so glassy, reflecting the light from the single, yellow incandescent bulb above his head. The table of contents revealed several articles about what was "In the News" at the time, as well as the main story about an archeologist named Dr. Louis Leakey and his discovery of a three-million-year-old skull of a human-like female. The picture on the cover and one inside showed an ape-like creature that was supposed to be the bridge between modern Homo sapiens and chimpanzees. The Australopithecine female was given the nickname Lucie.

Lucie? Willie said to himself. It was a lot easier to say than that other word -- Australo… something or other, he thought to himself.

He kept turning the pages, catching articles here and there depending on what caught his eye. He started to sit down as he became more engrossed in his reading.

"Whoa! he said rather loudly, falling backwards into a box of dirty, musty rags that had grown smellier with age. Quickly he put his hand over his mouth and listened for any commotion downstairs, hinting that he’d been discovered. Eventually, he was able to exhale and continue his perusal of the yellow-bordered magazine. Article after article, he flipped through until finally stopping on one: Election Years of the Past."

In 1920, Warren G. Harding was elected president. This president would come under scrutiny for the bribery investigation into his Secretary of the Interior, Albert B. Fall, who was accused of taking kickbacks in exchange for leasing Navy petroleum reserves to private oil companies at below-market rates. At the time, Teapot Dome became the worst scandal in U.S. government history. Only later in 1974 would the Watergate Scandal surpass it, ending with the resignation of a sitting president.

Ticht, ticht, ticht ….

Willie looked up. It was a scratching sound coming from the corner of the room. Frightened, he dropped the magazine between his knees and sat, his eyes bulging from his head as he watched every inch of the wall to spot whatever was moving. It took a few seconds before he saw the small figure of a furry gray-and-brown mouse scampering along the crease between the floorboards and the wall.

Oh, it’s only that, thought Willie. He wasn’t afraid; having had a little ginger gerbil a few years earlier, he was used to rodents.

Danny, where did you say you put the tape? It was the high-pitched voice of his mother floating up the staircase from down below. To Willie, that was far scarier than any little brown mouse scurrying about the attic. He could feel the lump starting to well-up in his throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to catch him up there.

Danny? I still can’t find it. His mother sounded as if she were right at the bottom of the staircase.

Then, he heard her footsteps getting louder and coming up toward him. Panic seized him. No! he thought, I have to hide! Where can I hide? He started to duck behind another tall stack of stuff, this one of old Chicago Tribune newspapers.

Oh, I found it Danny. It was just on the step down here.

With his heart pounding and his breathing rapid and shallow, Willie sat motionless, waiting for the fear to go away. After a few minutes of quiet, he decided it was safe to come out. But as he put down the magazine he spotted something else even more curious. On top of an expensive-looking trunk that was sheathed with ancient images was what appeared to be an extremely old book; its cover was the color of brown molasses and was made of leather that was wrinkled and worn like a WWII fighter pilot jacket.

Willie approached quietly, as if stalking the tiny sprite of a mouse he had just seen. As he put his hands on the book, dust from its surface rose into the air, nearly making him sneeze. Quickly, he pinched his nose, stopping himself from making even more noise that might alert his mother to his mischief.

Carefully scraping off the rest of the dust from the cover, Willie tried to read the title, but it was too faint to make out. Next, he used his sleeve, brushing away the rest of the silt and letting it fall to the wooden floorboards. Holding the book closer, he looked carefully at the characters, aiming to decipher the fractured lettering that was embossed on the book’s surface. The title was in gold, but he couldn’t understand it. Fortunately, taped to the inside of the cover was a three-by-five-inch card that had something written on it in English. It read simply:

Strange Books - VI

Weird, thought Willie, I’ve seen a lot of book titles, but this one is by far the strangest. Then, he laughed, realizing his own joke.

In the stack under that book were five others just like it, in no particular order. They were all the same – old, with gold lettering and a cracked brown, leather cover. Willie had learned his Roman numerals in fourth grade, and he could read the numbers on each – VI, III, I, IV, and V, with II being at the very bottom. They also had other strange symbols and letters that he had no idea what they meant, including α, β, γ, δ, ε, or ζ.

Weird, he said again, this time aloud.

Willie cracked the cover again of the one on top and glanced at the title page.

Istoria lumii VI

φωτιζόμενη ιστορία ζ

The font of the first line was fancy and flowing. It looked important, at least to Willie. Inside the book, he found another three-by-five-inch card. Written on it, in big, bold lettering, were the words:

Keep Safe

Ticht, ticht, ticht ….

It’s that dang mouse again, thought Willie, becoming increasingly annoyed by the little creature.

Ticht, ticht, ticht ….

Distracted, Willie put the book back on the pile and glanced around the room one more time. The sound now seemed to be coming from the opposite corner of the attic, hidden behind mounds of old, yellowed newspapers awaiting their next assignment either in a gift box or the city dump. But that corner of the attic was dark and murky, forcing him to squint to get a better look. I still can’t see anything over there, he thought to himself. Dissatisfied, he courageously walked over and gently pulled the top bundle of newspapers away from the wall.

Well hello, Willie, came a voice exploding out of thin air.

"Ahhh!" yelled the teen, tumbling backwards and landing on his butt with a thump. As he fell, he knocked his head against a large, antique dresser that was pushed up against the wall. A sharp pain shot up through his neck and into his head, like he’d taken a direct hit on his helmet during football practice.

"Ow! he said, gently rubbing the back of his head. Then, he opened his eyes again, only to see the same specter. Get away from me!" Willie whispered forcefully, pushing away from the floating apparition.

Willie? It was his mother downstairs again. Where are you, Willie?

Willie wasn’t sure what to do now -- worried about his mother and the ghost floating in front of him. But he turned back toward the white phantom that seemed the greater threat. What do you want with me? he demanded.

I’m your Gramma, said the specter’s voice in a quiet, but familiar pattern and pitch. You shouldn’t talk to me that way! she demanded. I’m your elder!

No! Gramma’s dead! She died two weeks ago! Willie shot back, unable to push away any farther.

You’re right, Willie, said his Gramma. I moved on from my home here a few weeks ago, but you believe in heaven, don’t you?

No! Willie said adamantly.

Oh, that’s a shame. Because that’s where I am right now. I’m talking to you from heaven.

If you’re in heaven, then you can’t be here too, said Willie.

Think of it as a one-way mirror, Willie. Most of the time, you can’t see through the mirror over to my side, but I can always see you. Right now, the light from heaven is really bright, so you can see through to my side. That’s all. Does that make sense?

I guess so, answered Willie nodding.

Good. So, you believe me when I tell you that I’m your Gramma Zulov in spirit, right?

Again, Willie nodded his head but only slightly, keeping his eyes on the ghost. What Willie saw was like the swirling of white powder around the disembodied head of his Gramma. Her face was as he remembered it – strong, yet as wrinkled as it had been when she had been alive. Her hair was wavy, cut short around her head with a few sprigs sticking up on the left side, just over her ear. There was a small mole just under her eye and another on her eyelid that had distracted Willie when she’d been alive. She had thin lips and sharp creases all around her mouth – something caused by years of living a hard life on Earth.

No! Willie whispered to the apparition. You’re not there! You’re not Gramma!

Why don’t you believe what you see in front of you, Willie?

Willie crawled backward, pushing his legs against the magazines and papers to put more distance between himself and the eerie image.

Then the ethereal face softened and smiled, its eyes growing less strained and coarse around the edges. Oh, Willie. I know. It’s hard enough to understand when somebody dies. It’s harder yet to believe that I’m just in a different place. Is that it?

Willie again affirmed it silently, moving his head; yet, he was still unsettled.

Willie! came the refrain from his mother calling from downstairs.

I love my granddaughter, but sometimes she can be a little too persistent, can’t she? said the spirit. I’ll distract her while we finish, okay? The image of Gramma vanished for a few moments before returning.

The next thing Willie heard was his grandmother’s voice downstairs. Raya, where did you say you put mother’s purse?

Mom, I’ll get it for you. And with that, they heard Raya’s footsteps briskly retreat from the bottom of the attic stairs.

There, said Gramma, your mom’s downstairs preoccupied with helping your brother and your grandmother go through my old junk. I guess I should have done a better job getting rid of things while I was alive so she wouldn’t have to spend so much time doing it. Oh well. Not much I can do about it now. Gramma shook her head. Then, the spirit’s face turned pensive. Willie, there is something I need you to take care of for me. Can you do that?

Willie moved his head up and down I … I guess so, he mumbled.

Well, I saw you looking through those old books over there, she said, pointing toward the stack of odd leather volumes. They don’t make them like that anymore -- that’s for sure. I got those when I was young. Strange, aren’t they?

Uh, well, yeah, said Willie. "Really strange, if you asked me."

As you see, there are several others like it in that stack. They were mine to watch over while I was alive – I guess you could say I was their guardian, their protector. It was a job for your great grandfather too, but then I had to take it over all by myself after he passed. But since we’re both gone now, there isn’t anyone to look after them – except you.

Me? Why me? Willie asked, the queasy feeling in his stomach starting to come back.

Well, since you were the one who found them, I guess the job goes to you. The spirit grew larger, its misty body expanding like a genie let out of an enchanted bottle. "You’re now officially the keeper of these books, she said, waving her arms over him. It is your job to make sure that they all stay together and that no one takes them away. You see, those books are very powerful, very important. If a bad person gets their hands on them, then bad things can happen. And we don’t want that, do we?"

Yeah, I mean, no, ma’am, said Willie, correcting himself. Then he contorted his face and asked, But, Gramma, what’s so important about these books?

She smiled. Oh, that’s a long, long story, Willie. Then she paused before adding, Do you remember when I used to talk about growing up in Romania?

Yeah, sure. You would tell Mom about how poor things were there.

Yes, Willie. And later, I got a very important job with the government.

You and Grandpa worked there together, right?

My, you do have a good memory! Well, your grandpa and I did a lot of things together for the government – some things that I’m not proud of now, but I did nonetheless. However, during one of those times we found the books, or should I say, the books found us. I guess in a way they always find their next owner – not the other way around.

Willie picked up the top book and ran his hand over the cracked leather cover.

Gramma looked on at her great grandson. They were written in Greek many, many years ago, she said.

But I can’t speak Greek, Gramma, said Willie.

"Oh, I translated some of the Greek into English. I left some notes around in there somewhere. Your great grandpa said he hid others, but I'm not sure where. The paper in the books was so delicate that I didn’t want to write on it. You know, like you’re taught in school. It would ruin the book, wouldn’t it? Anyway, you’ll figure out what makes them so special soon enough – probably too soon. So right now, you just need to understand that they are special, and you need to take care of them for me. Can you do that, Willie? Will you promise?"

Willie nodded. Okay, Gramma. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.

You were always such a good boy, Willie. You’re so dependable for your age. I know you’ll do a great job protecting them. You know you always did have my fondness for books.

Willie? His mother was once again calling him from downstairs. Where are you, Willie?

I must go, said his Gramma. But Willie, if you really get into trouble, I will be there for you. All you need to do is ….

Crash!

Something fell downstairs, making a loud noise, as if someone dropped something heavy they were trying to move.

What? I couldn’t hear you, Willie said, momentarily distracted, but now looking back at the ghostly cloud. What did you say again?

But at that moment, the image began to fade.

Wait! shouted Willie, reaching for the swirling dust. Don’t go!

Oh, and one more thing, his Gramma said, her visage evaporating, you may find other interesting things hidden in an old trunk somewhere up here – if you look hard enough.

And with that, the dusty image fell apart -- each particle spinning off into a different direction in midair until there was nothing left.

Clomp, clomp, clomp. Willie! His mom’s footsteps echoed off the stairwell walls as she headed up to the attic. It sounded as though she were really angry.

Willie? Willie, are you up here? shouted Raya, clearly put-out by where she suspected her son to be hiding.

Yeah, Mom. I’m fine. You don’t need to come up. I’m fine, really!

You need to come back downstairs right now young man. You know you’re not supposed to be up there!

When Willie finally saw her, his mom’s face was scarlet with anger. Between that and the V-shape that her eyebrows made when she got mad, he knew she was going to let him have it. He knew better than to tell her about the specter he had seen; she wouldn’t have believed him and it would only make things worse. In fact, he still wasn’t sure whether he believed it himself.

Trying to get out of trouble, he said, Mom, I did find some really cool books up here that I want to keep for …

Now, Willie, we talked about this. Everything is going to be put out for the estate sale tomorrow – everything! We need the money to pay some bills your Gramma left us. Anyway, nothing up here is worth anything -- just old newspapers, magazines and stuff that should have been thrown out years ago, said his mother.

But Mom. I have to …

Willie! Raya looked at him sternly, come on. We have to get downstairs. Your grandmother and brother are waiting for us. We’re going out to dinner since there’s nothing in the refrigerator. Come on. Let’s go.

But Mom!

It was of no use, and Willie knew it. He trudged over to the doorway, where his mom helped him negotiate the steep, narrow stairs. At the bottom, she told him to stand still while she took the palm of her hand and brushed the dust off his blue trousers.

You know better than to go up there, young man. Now I’ll have to clean your shirt and pants, Raya continued, swatting off the dust particles that wafted into the air, only to settle again someplace else in the house.

Willie looked back up into the darkness where he’d just left his Gramma’s treasures, wondering how he was going to save the books she had asked him to protect. His job as Protector of the Books was already off to a rocky start.

*****

CH 2 The Estate Sale

The light came streaming through the double-paned window and into the guest bedroom. There were three bedrooms in the house. Before his Gramma passed, Willie and his brother shared the guest bedroom, while his mother slept in a larger bedroom down the hall. Now that Gramma was gone, he got the guest bedroom to himself, while his grandmother took Gramma’s old room and Raya and Daniel shared the two double beds in the larger bedroom.

Willie rubbed his eyes and squinted. He wasn’t used to the light being so bright in the morning. At home, his bedroom was on the north side of the house, which didn’t get as much sunshine in the morning or at night.

Yes, it’s morning, he thought. I guess I should get out of … He glanced over at his clock. Oh, no! It’s late! The sale’s already started! The books!

Willie jumped out of bed and ran out into the family room, past the old beige leather chair and through the kitchen. All he could think about were those books – the ones his Gramma had told him to protect. Now, he feared, he had already failed her and the awesome responsibility she’d given him.

He was still in his jammies when he got to the front entryway. Out of breath, he pulled back the heavy, wooden door and then pushed open the lighter, screen door which was attached to a spring overhead. He didn’t even hear the smack the door made as it slammed against the doorframe behind him. Instead, he was on a mission to find his books amongst the many tables, boxes and crates that were neatly organized around the front yard.

Willie spotted his grandmother and ran to her. Granny, he said to her, using her nickname, as opposed to Gramma which they had all used for his great-grandmother, have you seen Mom?

Grandmother Natalie put her hand to her chin. The last time I saw her she was standing by the old refrigerator we’re selling. She pointed to her left and then went back to straightening a table full of blouses.

Willie saw his mother and sprinted to her, his feet growing cold and damp as he trampled the dew on the morning grass.

Mom! Where are my books? he asked urgently.

Raya looked at him, annoyed by the interruption.

Mom! My books -- the ones I told you about yesterday, asked Willie, anxiously.

His mom was busy talking to a customer, trying to sell two old cook books by Julia Childs that were posted at two dollars each.

"Shush!" said his mother, giving him a cold stare.

Mom! Willie persisted.

Willie, you’ll have to wait, son. I’m with a customer right now.

He waited patiently while she closed the sale – negotiating the price up from one dollar apiece to three dollars for both books.

After taking the money and giving the books to the customer, Raya returned to her young son, somewhat exasperated, and asked, What is it Willie? What’s so darned important?

Mom, where are those books I asked you to put away for me? You know, those strange, old books in the crate I showed you in the attic.

I don’t know Willie. Everything is out here. I don’t know where we put specific things. We just put it all out on the tables. You’ll just have to go look for yourself. Now, I need to get back to minding the sale.

Raya turned around and walked to the flimsy, portable card tables to see if she could help someone else while Willie sped off in the opposite direction, frantically looking to find his books.

All the tables were filled with Gramma’s stuff – some still neatly organized in rows, others with the items scattered all over as if two cats had gotten into a fight in the middle of them. There were even pieces of old furniture set out for sale – an old oak, three-drawer dresser priced at forty-nine dollars, some caned, walnut chairs with roses carved into the backs for twenty-six, and a wooden steamer trunk with gray leather straps his mom had marked for ninety-three.

Willie scurried from table to table nearly tripping on his own PJ trousers, peering into each box and crate stacked on top of or tucked away below the tables. The first three boxes held nothing but old dishes, some black rubber boots Gramma used to wear in the garden, a couple of antique clocks that hadn’t run in years and an assortment of hand tools left behind in the garage by Grandpa.

Crap! Willie said softly, glancing around to make sure his mom wasn’t within earshot. He moved from the first table to the second and then to the third. Crap, crap, crap! he said at each station. Increasingly frustrated, he surveyed the rest of the estate sale offerings to see if there were any other tables around under which the books could be hiding.

On the far end of the yard, he suddenly noticed a strange-looking man kneeling on the ground, combing through a large, dented carton already half-emptied onto the surrounding grass. The man was old – bald on top but with long, stringy-gray hair around the fringes that hung down around his shoulders. His skin was tanned, wrinkled and mottled. His nose was long and crooked, perhaps broken during a high school wrestling match or football game during his younger years. But at the same time, he was tall and lanky, wearing old blue jeans and a brown suede jacket even though it was nearly seventy degrees out. Most interesting of all were his boots. They were genuine black cowboy boots – rough-and-tough looking with pointy toes and bumps where the ostrich quills had once been. Willie had never seen real cowboy boots before – not like these; these were the real McCoys. Probably from Texas, Willie thought.

On the ground near the cowboy’s bent knee were several books in addition to the one he was holding in his hand. The man’s eyes were riveted to what he had dug out from the rest of the chafe during his search. To Willie’s shock, the one in the man’s hand was one of his books - one of the ones he was supposed to protect. But on the cowboy's face was a broad, steady smile, as if he had discovered gold.

Willie stared at the man until the cowboy looked up, sensing that someone was watching him. Dark and glassy, his penetrating brown eyes gave Willie a sense of instant fear and foreboding. It was a feeling he’d never had before, like he was facing an evil spirit -- one without feeling or a soul. The cowboy’s eyes bound their gaze to Willie’s, but rather than smile back at the young boy, the old man scowled. Grabbing his dark-brown cowboy hat that lay beside him, the man pushed it back on his head and pressed it down low over his forehead.

Willie was startled, and he looked away quickly, hoping the man would think he hadn’t really been watching him after all. He waited for a moment before glancing back to where the old man had been. But, the old man was gone, and so was the book.

Willie ran to the table where his mother was trying to make the next deal of the century. Mom! I just saw a man steal some of your books! He was right over there! Willie shouted, pointing in the direction from where he’d seen the old man.

His mother finished putting a brown, woolen scarf and matching winter hat into a bag for a customer and turned back to her son. Willie, can’t you leave me alone? I’m trying to …

But Mom! I saw this cowboy. He was right over there by that table and he … he stole some of your stuff.

Somebody was stealing? Where? Where is he? asked his mom, now more interested. Her eyes darted all around the yard and up and down the road just beyond the silver mailbox.

He was right over there, said Willie, again pointing toward the table where the books had been. But now he’s gone. I saw him take a book or maybe more than one. They were the ones I wanted you to save for me.

Oh, those old books? Those weren’t worth much anyway, Willie. I probably would have only gotten five dollars, if that, for the whole lot. Don’t worry about it, his mom said, before adding, But you let me know if that man comes back. I’ll call the sheriff. He’ll get things straightened out!

Willie knew she wouldn’t do anything more about it, so he walked over to the book crate to see what was left. There had been at least six volumes that he’d found in the attic the day before, but as he rummaged through the rest of what was on the table, he couldn’t any. Table after table he went, picking up articles of little value and hoping he would find the rest of the books together in one place. But each time, he came up empty handed. Finally, he returned to his mother’s table and sat there until her last customer left.

I'm sorry, said Raya, talking to a middle-aged man, I just can't take anything less than that for this trunk.

The customer frowned and shook his head. It's not worth what you're asking, said the man. I tell you what. I'll give you a hundred for it. That's my final offer.

Raya stood firm. Thanks, but we'll just keep it in the family if that's all it will bring.

As the man left, Willie piped up. Mom, he began, I just need to look under …

Raya gave him a cold stare. Really, Willie! Can’t you find something better to do than to pester me today?

No, I mean yes, Mom. But this is the last place I haven’t looked. I’ve looked every place else.

What is it that you’re looking for Willie? All I have are some of your grandpa’s old college books. You can look through them if you want. They’re down here, she said, motioning under the table, but not offering to help.

Willie dug through the single box and found a collection of calculus, physics, chemistry and other college volumes, some highlighted, others underlined, but all very well used. Discouraged, he pulled out an English grammar reference book, splashed with orange and pink, and tossed it aside believing he had scraped the bottom when he spotted it. It was one of the brown, leather books, and it was buried at the bottom, standing upright against the side of the box. It was the last volume – number six – the one he had held in his hands up in the attic.

I guess he got the rest of ‘em, Willie thought to himself, angry and hurt.

They’re all gone. All of the books are gone except this one! said Willie holding it up to his mother. Cowboy took all the rest!

Okay, Willie. This isn’t something you need to fret about. Now go get dressed. We still have a lot of things to sell here before the end of the day. You said you’d help bring out other stuff from the garage and from the basement once we had room on the tables. Now get going! she said, in a scolding tone.

Willie sighed, Yes, ma’am. He walked away, clutching the one remaining book to his chest. It was heavy, but it was now the last one. He had to keep it safe; he’d promised his Gramma.

But there was something else he knew – that the man he would call Cowboy was one of those bad men his Gramma warned him about. There was no doubt in his mind. *****

CH 3 An Uninvited Guest

Chicago … 1 week later

Willie had always been a bookworm. He would sometimes go to a friend’s house to play, but most often he just liked to read quietly in his room, shutting out the world around him. During the summer months, his mother could barely get him outside, and when she did, he always took his electronic book reader with him. Book readers had come a long way since they’d been introduced in the 2000s. Now, Willie could enjoy watching fully interactive books with built-in holographic projections of movies or moving illustrations and graphs. History books typically came with movie clips from old cinema pictures or re-enactments that showed the events as they may have happened. Some even projected 3D holographic images of entire battle scenes with fighter jets flying in mid-air and tanks crashing through dense forests or underbrush. When he was outside, Willie would sit for hours reading under the huge, red maple tree in the backyard, its bows hanging lithely over the boys’ long-abandoned sandbox. He would become lost in the world of his book until, that is, Daniel would be given the task to find him and bring him home for supper.

Yet, an interest in books had almost been a requirement in their household. Willie’s mother was an associate college professor at the local university. His father had been well educated too and had told the boys that he worked for an international clothing manufacturer. It didn’t seem strange to them until later when Daniel remembered that his father had never shown much interest in fashion or clothes. He hadn’t been home much either, traveling abroad on business most of the time.

It had been a few years since their father had died, killed in an automobile accident overseas. It had been a strange incident – one the French police determined had been caused by brake failure although the rental car he had been driving had been brand new. After months of mourning, his mother had finally gone back to work at the university. She had tried to get her life back in order but had not quite been able to overcome the loss. Instead, she carried a heavy guilt, even though Willie and Daniel had never understood why.

Besides being intellectually curious, Willie was affable and sociable with adults when he had to be. With a mop of dark-brown hair that didn’t curl even in high humidity, he was otherwise short and non-descript