The Book of Nodd: The Dreamwalker

By B.S. Thompson

Meet Edward Nodd, a peculiar young boy who has spent his entire life feeling as though he was missing something. It's not that he isn't a whole boy, because he certainly is, but rather it seems as if something inside is absent. That is until one day, when he stumbles upon a mirror that will take him beyond the scope of reality and into I'draea, the world of dreams.

Join him as he journeys through the fantastic and often dangerous realms of unreality. There he encounters a host of wild and interesting characters, including the vicious and terrible Sandman, who resides deep in the City of Nightmares!

This dark tale will be a good read for fans of fantasy and horror alike!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228843993

B.S. Thompson

B.S. Thompson is a writer, graphic designer, an all-around artist extraordinaire. He is debuting his first fantasy/horror novel, "The Book of Nodd." He has been a lifelong writer, and has won several regional awards for plays that he has written. He now puts pen to paper once again to breathe life into the new world that he has created.He graduated with honours as a Graphic Designer and enjoys the outdoors, writing music and spending time with his little dog and fiancée, exploring beautiful Vancouver Island, Canada, where they reside.You can learn more about B.S. and his upcoming projects at his website, bsthompson.webs.com, or follow the Dreamwalker on Instagram @thedreamwalker2020. You can also follow the Dreamwalker on Facebook. Hyperlink: https://www.facebook.com/The-Dreamwalker-109650640829961/.

Book preview

Prologue

The Jack Decker Foster Home stood on the outskirts of Poplar Springs. In its hay-day, the town had been a relatively small logging port in Northern Ontario. During the great depression it had been a hot spot for middle class workers who, with the looming threat of economic collapse, hoped for steady work. Even though it was a hard road there was always opportunity in the field of lumberjacking. In fact, it was likely because the job was so physically taxing that there was so much need for workers. After all, not all men were able bodied enough to carry out the task. Even if they were strong enough, they’d also have to be willing to uproot their entire families to work in the often-cold Canadian north. Fortunately for Poplar Springs, there were many desperate enough to do so, and for years the town thrived on industry. At the heart of that industry stood the E.D. Paper Mill, run by Eugene Decker. Recessions, however, do not last forever, and when things began to get better for the global economy, they got worse for the local one.

Men were finding jobs in safer, warmer, drier environments and the life of the lumberjack was left to those hardwired to the job. Old school log riders with only the mill behind them and little else ahead. Piece by piece the town of Poplar Springs began to dry up. It seemed to the townsfolk that more of it disappeared with each passing day, and before long there was only the E.D. Paper Mill and those raised around it.

Eugene Decker was a smart boy whose family had always been business minded, and one of the few to emerge from the financial crisis of the early 20th century unscathed. They seemed simply to have a genetic disposition for playing their cards right, and Eugene Decker was no exception. This is not to say that he had had it easy, for even though his inheritance would have been more than enough to keep even his grandchildren living in luxury, he had wanted nothing to do with it.

A man, or so Eugene believed, was not to be measured by his monetary worth, but rather by the strength of his deeds. His family came from old money and could not remember a time of hardship. They had been handed everything on a silver platter and, it seemed to him, that they were little more than the lucky benefactors of hard work done by people they no longer even know the names of.

By his fifteenth birthday he had grown a deep hatred for the hypocrisy of those around him- his family, namely, who looked down on hard working citizens for having nothing, while they themselves had never even done a full day’s work. Despite the cautioning of his friends, he withdrew from business altogether. His father, Harold Decker, was the single greatest contributing factor to this decision.

He had hated the way that Harold had run the industry, paying the workers slave wages, then raising prices on the sales floor. He had hated his father for many reasons; his cold demeanor, logical mind and sharp tongue being among the worst of them. However, none could hold a candle to his hatred for Harold’s insatiable lust for wealth.

By his eighteenth birthday even money itself had become a loathsome concept to him. The mindless trading of little green IOU’s from the government had driven half the world either mad with greed or sick with need, and Eugene despised every aspect of it.

He saw in his father the physical embodiment of the evil he saw in mankind. Harold Decker was both tangible and accessible; a devil of flesh and blood onto which he could pin all the anger he harbored. He would spend hours protesting his father’s methods, arguing for the fair treatment of the workers, and the need for more equality throughout the ranks- but his father would always win out, his cool, processed logic taking the prize over Eugene’s pure intentions.

These are hard times, my son, he would say, his thick, bristly moustache puffing up with each hard syllable uttered. This is what capitalism is all about! If they want to go off and get better jobs, let them. I am not stopping them. I provide the work at a set wage. If they don’t like it, they can leave, and with no hard feelings. I’m not forcing them to be here.

When Eugene had been a small boy, he had loved his father’s moustache. He adored the way its thick, brown whiskers hung off his slowly graying, gaunt face making him look as though he had been chiseled out of stone. He seemed so regal. So strong and stoic. He had loved to watch it move as he spoke, looking like waves in a field of perfectly trimmed grain.

As a child he had found it soothing. Hypnotic even. He would often find himself lost in its rhythm as his father spoke, but as he grew, he began to listen. He heard all the terrible things of the world seep from between its bristles. With time, the moustache began to look sinister. It was as though something awful was hiding beneath it.

As the years passed his understanding of cruelty grew and it became a thing of evil, for when it moved it let loose the thoughts and ideas of a deranged mind. It moved to scream at his mother for burning the roast. It moved to fire the workers when times were tough, and to accuse the maids of stealing things Eugene had seen his father pocket himself. It moved to spread its lies at parties, and gloat over new trinkets while the civilized world starved to death two floors below. Finally, on Eugene’s twenty second birthday, it moved to offer him a job in top management at one of the local mines.

Eugene, unlike his father’s moustache, would not be moved. Not only was the idea of filling the bloodied shoes of his father disturbing to him, but Eugene felt that his future lay in a different direction. He politely declined and, much to his father’s dismay, went his separate way heading into his own destiny. He got a job pushing pencils at the Harmony River Pulp and Paper factory, and a few months later, a ragged apartment in the industrial section of town.

After only a few short years, the pencil pushing job had transformed into a management position and the ragged apartment had been upgraded to a luxury suite downtown. This was no small feat for a man who had spent most of his early life rejecting the business world, but it seemed to him to be only necessity. You work to live, and so you live to work. Eugene had learned this at a very young age. Very importantly, by the time he had reached middle age he knew that the owner of the mill, Leonard Copple, was very old and had no children.

Still, the codger was not so old that he was unable to make Eugene’s life a living hell. No matter how many cuts he made, Copple was never happy with the bottom line and he would always look Eugene’s way come tally time, and shake his grizzly, gray head. The message was never spoken, but there were no secrets come pay day. If the mill made less, then he made less. Despite this, he refused to allow the workers to suffer for an old man’s greed, never once cutting an employee, or his salary, due to a slow year.

Suffice it to say that when Mister Copple finally met his end, there were no friends comforting him at his side, nor were there attendants at his funeral. He was buried alone in the same graveyard his parents had been laid to rest in, one foggy morning three years previous. The service was led by a single minister who said the last rites only out of respect for the dead. Later that summer, when the mill went up for auction, the only bidder had been Eugene Decker.

Within a year the lifeless shell that was once the Harmony River Pulp and Paper Mill breathed new life again as the Eugene Decker Paper Mill, named so that anytime his father went to write a cheque for money he didn’t earn, the paper would remind him that his son had done that which he could not; become a self-made man. This name would carry the town through the depression and past the desolation it left behind. This was Eugene’s first miracle.

His second miracle came quite unexpectedly to him. However, to his longtime girlfriend, Victoria Candlesmythe, who he had only known for four months, the surprise had come much earlier. Of course, she had been afraid to tell him. After all, a child is no laughing matter, and they had not even gotten engaged. At the time, this was greatly frowned upon. Naturally, this was soon remedied and shortly thereafter young Jack was born.

The proceeding years of Jack’s life were those of a happy child. He was raised to treat others with respect and to carry himself with the dignity of a gentleman. His father, Eugene, had always been a child at heart and he saw in his boy some piece of himself, which had been thinned away like his own father’s moustache had those many years ago. He vowed that he would not repeat those same mistakes and Jack grew up knowing love.

Eugene, who changed the fate of one town, could not change the nature of the world, and Jack, who had always been a little naive, was not prepared when the time finally came for him to be thrust into it. There was so much anger and despair weaving its way through the hearts of men, and so few doing anything about it. His heart broke a little more each day. Jack refused to be a part of the problem, and in the autumn of his twenty third year he began his life’s work.

The town of Poplar Springs had long been on the decline, and even the public service buildings had been greatly in need of repairs for some time. When the economy jumped back up in the late fifties the mayor decided that, rather than renovating the old buildings, new ones should be built.

For most of the structures around, this made sense as some were nearly condemnable and others, such as the old library building, had almost fallen down. The only exception to these was the school, which was no masterpiece of craftsmanship but still remained structurally sound. Jack Decker knew this, and with a little help from his father, relieved city council of the burden of knocking it down.

By the time he was twenty-five Jack had transformed the broken, old schoolhouse into an orphanage, which was named after him. The pine supports, he replaced with heavy oak beams. The battered hardwood flooring was sanded, redone and then buffed to a shine and the walls were painted a deep, earthy reddish brown. After he was done the building looked less like a drafty old barn and more like a home. More importantly, it looked like the sort of place one might want to raise children.

Before he had turned thirty Jack Aaron Decker had found his place in life, and there he stayed until finally passing the torch along to Edna Cartsguild, who had been a longtime friend of the family.

Chapter 1

The Arrival of August

At first glance, one would think old Edna Cartsguild to be the absolute worst candidate for a Head Mother at an orphanage. Although, when she was hired, she was not more than thirty, she looked nearly twice that. Her angular, stony face bore thin lips, a hawk like nose, and wide, piercing eyes. Her frame was small and wispy, yet she seemed to possess within her the strength of at least ten men. Her hair was greying, even at her young age, and rapidly thinning.

These things alone would be enough to start rumors regarding the woman’s relationship with Satan, but they were less frightening by far than the terrible, stainless steel hook she had instead of a right hand. In truth, by appearance one would expect the woman might eat the children more readily than she might tuck them into bed, but Edna had a kind heart, and had always loved children.

On this particular day, Edna was trying to love a young boy named Edward Nodd in the only way she could think to- through strict discipline. However, he was already over a half hour late. She stood looking at the eastern sky, peering through the second story window of the study hall. It was the quietest of the rooms in the otherwise busy building.

None of the children seemed to like the study hall, and it was no secret as to why. Sure, it was a beautiful, spacious room, with a stunning view, but still, the children seemed to view it as a type of finely furnished prison. Edna, on the other hand, had always loved the room, despite its emptiness.

She had, in her early years, taken to meeting with the kids in the study hall whenever it was required of her. It was a warm, comfortable area that seemed always to be lit with the most serene orange glow. It was as if it had a calm of its own that could not be touched by the outside world. Today, though, it seemed that the room was colder than usual and, every once in a while, it sent a chill down her spine that made the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end.

She checked her watch again, and rocked back on her heels, lingering for a second to accent her quickly dwindling patience. She could hear the children in the front yard below, laughing and playing, but the house itself was uncomfortably silent.

Most of the time, Edna truly enjoyed her job. She had grown to love many of the long-term residents there as her own. Even in punishing them there was a real sense of love. She only wanted what was best for the kids, and after a certain age it seemed that she would be the only mother some of them would know. Edward Nodd, she figured, was one of these.

Edward, who was nearly fourteen at the time, was not exactly the first in line to be adopted. He was a strange, solitary boy who was maybe just a little too smart for his own good. Even if he had been well mannered, and he certainly wasn’t, he was a fairly homely, and unremarkable looking child. While standing next to the small, starry, blue eyed blond toddlers around him he looked almost ghostly. He was far too thin and pale for a boy of his age, and his sallow, sunken face made him look as though he were constantly at death’s door. Most potential parents don’t even get as far as his first name before deciding to adopt one of the younger, brighter-looking children around him.

Edna had always been fond of Edward, regardless of his tendencies towards dark things. He had been dropped at the orphanage anonymously when he was still in his swaddling clothes, holding an elegantly scripted place card which read N.O.D.D. She had taken him in out of the cold, dewy morning air and into the sitting room, where she bathed and dressed him. He seemed a happy boy, healthy and strong, despite that he was frighteningly pale even then. She loved him immediately.

Weeks passed, then years. His strange, macabre appearance had made potential parents wary of him. Even those prepared to deal with the health problems of such a sickly-looking child could see in his eyes a certain sadness, and would shy away, turning instead to the happier, carefree children around them.

Still, he would not be discouraged. Even as a small boy he refused to let the world get to him. Edna believed that, after a while, the rejection was almost like a kind of strength to him. After all, the Jack Decker Foster Home was the only place he had ever lived and knowing that he would still be there into his late teens came as kind of a comfort to him.

He knew where the best reading spots were. Those secret places where the sun hits just right and bathes you in warmth without blinding you. He knew which corners were quietest, and how to move around on the old wooden stairs without making them creak. He knew that the view from the east was prettiest come summer, and that the whole place would smell like lavender in May.

Edna knew these things too, and she would often smile at the thought of all they had secretly shared. Edward too often found himself thinking about the old spinster and smiling, though he would never admit it. Over the many years that she had cared for him she had become more than just a replacement mother to him. She had become his friend. This, however, had never stopped him from being, completely, ridiculously late for almost all his appointments with her, and today was no exception.

Edna checked her watch again and sucked on her teeth. It had been almost an hour now and caring for a house of more than a dozen children could keep a person very busy. She tapped her hook on the windowpane feverishly, and turned on her heel to leave but, instead, found herself blocked at the door by a ghostly pale boy dressed in tattered black jeans, and a faded navy-blue hoodie.

I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show, Edna said, with no hint of surprise in her stiff, raspy voice.

Where was I going to go? You know where I live, Edward replied.

Well, you’ve managed to find someplace to be for the last hour, Edna said.

Hour? What time is it? Edward said, his tone revealing the sincerity of his statement. In truth he had not meant to be late at all, but he had been reading and lost track of time, which is something he often did. He didn’t mind that people thought he did it on purpose. Better, or so Edward thought, to look like you are doing something bad intentionally then to seem careless. Anyways, it didn’t much matter. He had already been branded a problem child, so what was a little tardiness?

In fact, he was pretty sure that having a nasty reputation was what landed him the meeting with Cartsguild to begin with. There had recently been an issue with a girl named Sherri, the beheading of a certain doll, and the use of a particularly unpleasant word beginning with the letter c.

He had thought that most of it was trivial. The doll was returned and was still fixable without even needing glue. Edward had thought she had gotten what was owed to her, even the serious profanity, which he felt was justified.

He had only been sitting on the front step reading when Sherri had come by with her friends, a few of the local children who came by to play with some of the more active boys and girls. They had started with name calling, and then moved onto persistent teasing, but when it had seemed that Edward would not be affected, they began hurling rocks at him.

It wasn’t that the rocks hurt which made him angry, as they were only small pebbles thrown by preteen girls and barely even stung. Nor was it the names they called him, as they were not very hurtful, or even imaginative for that matter. It wasn’t their sneering faces, or their shrill little laughs. It wasn’t that he had done nothing to them, or that he had been there first, minding his own business.

It was that they had no reason to be doing it, save that he was not like them, and, despite his tough front, this bothered him a great deal. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be like them, but he felt that he lacked something that everyone else had and took for granted. The problem was that, no matter how long he thought it over, he could not put his finger on exactly what it was. That fact bothered him almost as much as the problem itself.

It’s nearly five thirty, Edna began. I’ve been here since a quarter after four.

I’m sorry, ma’am, he replied.

Hm, Edna said, scrunching her eyes up as if looking for some hint of a lie in his apology. Finding nothing there, she continued. I suspect you think you know why you’re here.

I’m sorry, Ma’am. I know I shouldn’t use language like that, he said, shifting his eyes downwards and doing his damnedest to look sorry, despite that, this time, he was not.

This isn’t about the incident with Sherri, although, we will have to address reprehensible behavior like that at another time. This is about… Perhaps we should sit down. What say you, hm? She said, gesturing to the old, wooden table set adjacent the window. Edward scrunched his face up and wriggled his nose, which was something he often did when he was nervous or confused.

They sat for what seemed to be an eternity, simply staring out the window down to the courtyard below, taking in what would likely be one of the last true days of summer. As they sat Edna’s look grew sadder and Edward’s all the more confused. Finally, Edna turned to him and spoke.

Edward, do you remember how you got here? Edna asked.

Sure. I got dropped here anonymously, right? Just left on the steps, like somebodies garbage, Edward replied. He had always felt strongly regarding the subject of how, exactly, he came to be under Old Ms. Cartsguild’s care, and he was not shy about expressing it. Edna, who had been in this game for a long time, was not so quick to judge.

Well, not exactly, but you remember the basics, yes?

Yes. I was abandoned here by dear old Mom and Dad, and no one has any idea who they were, and why they didn’t want me, so I shouldn’t assume the worst, Edward said, the final part of his statement droning off into toneless repetition. Of course, he would assume the worst. Who wouldn’t?

That’s right, she began, a small smirk growing on her face. We didn’t know anything about your family at all.

Big loss, he said and scoffed.

Until now.

For a brief second Edward felt very heavy, as if someone had chained massive weights to his face, but his mind felt very light. Too light, almost. He tried hard to swallow, but there was nothing but the dry sandpaper feeling of his own tongue as it grated against the roof of his mouth. He struggled for a moment to gain his bearings. The old crone hadn’t just said what he thought she had said. Couldn’t have. Could she?

Whadnuh dat? He blurted, his words seeming to twist around his lips, numbing them as they dribbled out. He steadied himself, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air had seemed, mercifully, to have returned to the room and he drank it in like cool water. He moved his hands gently along the surface of the old, oak table and exhaled.

What was that? He repeated, finding some solace in the fact that he had beat his mouth in a game of wits. Edna Cartsguild, feeling some of the sadness leaving her, smiled a little.

Just yesterday a woman came by to speak to me. She told me that she was your Grandmother, Edna began.

My Grandmother!? Edward blurted, his eyes wide with something between joy and horror, or perhaps a curious mix of the two. Ordinarily she would have reprimanded such rudeness, but this was a special circumstance. Besides, if ever there was a time when a boy was allowed to wave the niceties of polite society, it was now.

That’s right. Your Grandmother. She says that she wants to talk to you.

A long pause passed between them, with a tension hanging in the air that you could taste. It was Edward who spoke, finally.

About? He said.

About… Edna began, feeling some of the sadness creep back up her spine to tug at her tear ducts a little. About adoption, Edward.

Well… You don’t believe her, do you? She could be anybody! How old is she even? Eighty? Ninety?

Edward, she-

Is she even capable of taking care of a kid? There must be some rule about old people taking care of little kids! What if she makes me eat sardines, or whatever? What if she falls and hurts herself?

Edward, I-

Don’t I even get a say in this? What if she’s secretly really mean, and she locks me in a closet or something. I heard of that happening to kids. People pretending to be nice at first, and then going crazy later!

Edward, you-

How can you even be sure she really is my Grandmother, huh? Did she bring a blood test, or a picture of me as a baby? Pictures can be altered, you know. With Computers. I saw a thing about it on T.V. last week. People do it all the time, to say they saw ghosts or bigfoot, or whatever, so that’s not proof!

Edward! Edna snapped. The barrage of questions had left her spinning, and she was beginning to feel nauseous. The fire across the table from her died down and became a small, too-pale boy once again. We’re pretty sure it’s her. If you are really concerned about the earnest nature of her claim, we’ll do a DNA test to see if the two of you are from the same genetic blood lines just to be absolute. There will be no room for error, you understand- but Edward… When I asked her for some proof, she drew this.

At that she produced a small piece of scrap paper which she carefully placed on the table in front of her, then slid it gingerly across to him and smiled. Again, there was a pause which seemed to last entirely too long, and then, just as carefully as the card had been passed, Edward picked it up. Written on it in fine, gold ink was one word, and only that.

He sat in awe of it, his eye’s tracing the line of each of the letters, which were elegantly penned. So little it seemed, set there on the torn square of paper, shimmering off of it like some fanciful, treasured thing whose only worth was to him.

There set in against a stark white background was the word NODD.

For the rest of the evening Edward sat alone in the far corner of the dining hall, stabbing at his meatloaf with an idle fork, thinking about what had happened. When he was deep in thought most of the other children in the orphanage knew not to disturb him, for Edward had a dark side and it was no secret to anyone.

Fourteen years of watching your friends get chosen by nice, loving families while you get passed over time and time again could do that to a person, and it had certainly done it to Edward Nodd. In those days, most people left him alone when his face became shadowy, and his eyes vacant. After all, if someone were to disturb him, he might be persuaded to turn those dark thoughts in their direction. It had happened before, and so everyone assumed it could happen again.

In truth, he had changed a lot in the last few years, but of course, much had happened since his rebellious, angry preteen years. First of all, he had become accustomed to his home at the orphanage. It had grown on him over the years, and the more that time passed the more comfortable he became there. It was stable and constant. Something he could rely on.

Regardless of how the world changed, the Jack Decker Foster Home had remained the same, and he liked that about it. He no longer felt the old tension building in the back of his skull when children bounced off to greener pastures, nor did the jibes of the other kids bother him. He had grown accustomed to life at the orphanage, and that was good enough for him.

In addition to that, a few of the newly orphaned children had befriended him and, miraculous as it seemed, they were even less likely to be adopted then he was.

The first who came to him was a small, wild haired boy named Cassius. Allegedly, he had been found wandering in the woods just outside of town, with no recollection of who he was, how he got there, or even how to speak any recognizable language. For a six-year-old boy, this was of little consequence and after years of societal reprogramming he was sent back to good ‘ole Poplar Springs in hopes that his real parents might find him there. After the first few years it had become apparent that they would not and, once all of the involved parties resigned to that fact, life continued on naturally.

Cassius was not like other children and it was apparent almost immediately upon meeting him. He had a way about him which made him seem almost extraterrestrial somehow, as if there was something hard coded into his blood that set him apart from everyone else. It was that extra ingredient that Edward was first attracted to. After all, if he was missing a piece and this boy had an extra one, then maybe- just maybe, he might find his answer there.

Regardless, Edward liked him and that was that. Even if he acted a little strange at times, and he most certainly did, it was understandable. After all, he was a ten-year-old boy who believed his life started when he was six, making him, or so Edward reasoned, more like an extremely advanced four-year-old, then an under-developed ten-year-old.

Still, potential foster families seldom looked so deeply and saw only an impetuous and disturbed boy who made up his own languages, as well as wild lies to cover for his delinquency. It was safe to say that Edward and Cassius were friends almost immediately.

The second person who came into Edward’s life was a young girl named Brianna Beckersly.

Most of the time orphans end up in foster care due to unwanted pregnancy, or parental inadequacy, and are no worse for the wear. These children usually end up in homes before their even old enough to verbally object. Other children, children like Brianna Beckersly, were not there because the parents couldn’t afford to care for their child, but rather that there were no parents left to.

Edward had spent enough time in an orphanage to know that if a kid was introduced with a last name, then his or her reason for being there was more than simply overcrowding in the orphanage one town over. It meant serious evil had befallen the unfortunate soul in question and there were no available foster parents willing to take on the responsibility of a troubled child. In Brianna’s case, you didn’t need to hear her name to know this.

One night in the cold months of November, only the year before, the Beckersly residence caught fire and burned to the ground, taking with it both her parents and her younger brother, Sam. It had only taken some of Brianna, but left her a thick, puffy burn scar running down the entirety of her right side in its stead. She had no eyebrows, nor had she lashes, and much of the hair on her head would not grow. Of course, she had wigs which she wore to cover that, but the scar, which had touched nearly all of her face, could not be covered and she would be left with it for the rest of her life.

Despite this, Brianna was a happy girl. Sure, it was true that her real family had died horribly, and she would not likely find a new one. It was also true that she was permanently disfigured, and it was likely to affect every aspect of her life for the remainder of it, but, at the end of the day, she was alive, and she figured things could only get better from there.

The three of them had since been inseparable and it had changed Edward in some small way. He had never really had friends, or anyone to rely on at all for that matter, and suddenly having them- truly finding kinship, was something warm and wonderful. He was not alone. The jabbing nudges of the demon on his shoulder began to subside, and eventually, they faded completely. Now, the demon had almost left him entirely.

Tonight, however, had been different. He had never before considered the idea that someone in his family might seek him out, especially since they had made no effort to do so in the previous fourteen years. How was he supposed to feel? Happy that he might know the love of family, or afraid of knowing who that family might be?

In truth, he felt nothing, and that is what had him sitting alone in a dark room, stabbing at a cold slab of ground beef. That was what had been eating at his soul with slow, methodic bites. He didn’t feel overwhelmed, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t in shock. He simply felt empty. In the end, when Old Cartsguild called lights out, he left his plate with the fork still jutting out of the badly abused meatloaf, and plodded off to bed, where he fell asleep before he could even change his clothes.

The following day he awoke to find that he felt no different, which would have worried him if he didn’t feel so strongly about everything else around him. The smell of breakfast sausage, which was one of his least favorite foods of all time, was so thick around him he could actually taste it, making him gag slightly. The room he lived in, which he shared with a few other boys, Cassius included, was an absolute disaster, and he had accidentally fallen asleep on an old sock, which had glued itself to the side of his face.

"Moi Grolub Uun. Good Morning, Brother, said a familiar voice. I saved some French toast for you."

Good morning, Cassius, he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Cassius was standing at the foot of the bed, his outstretched arm holding the foil wrapped breakfast within Edward’s reach. He grabbed it and tossed it to the side, where it landed, shimmering, just barely within his line of sight.

Did you wanna come down to the dining hall? Brianna just woke up. I saved her some sausage.

Edward yawned and stretched, nodding his reply.

The Dining hall was blessedly empty, save for Brianna, who sat in a little patch of light, which shone down from a high set window. She was wearing the long, black wig today, which meant that she was feeling troubled. She was one of the few kids in the orphanage who got a room of her own, partly due to the sensitive nature of her scars, and partly due to her need for closet space.

Ever since the fire she had begun to collect wigs. Between what she had been given by nurses, and the ones she had bought with money donated from various good-will-towards-men funds, she had accumulated thirty-six in all. Each had an attitude all its own. It was Brianna’s secret goal to eventually own one wig for every emotion a person could have. It was an impossible goal, of course, but that was what she liked about it.

Despite her obviously foul mood, she managed to greet her friends with a smile, which Edward had always believed, deformity or no, to be one of the most beautiful he had ever seen, and he simply could not help himself from smiling back.

Good Morning, Edward, she said warmly.

Good Morning Bri, Edward replied.

Got your breakfast, I see, she said, nodding towards the square like tin package lying at Edward’s side.

Sure did, he replied holding it up.

"Have to make sure you get your breakfast. Cro em Balog, Edward. Most important meal of the day!" Said Cassius.

I don’t know how you guys can eat anything this early in the morning, Edward stated.

It’s nearly ten. Most of the morning has gone already, Brianna said.

Edward peered at the huge overhead clock, which hung just above the doorway leading to the main hall. Indeed, most of the morning had slipped him by. He had slept for nearly fourteen hours, which was unheard of. Most nights he could barely slip six hours in. Perhaps, he thought, the notion of meeting his Grandmother had affected him more deeply than he had imagined.

He had not yet told his friends about the soon-to-come reunion of he and his supposed family. In fact, he hadn’t said a word to anybody since dinner the night before, and now, he wasn’t sure exactly what to say. He knew really nothing about this mystery woman who claimed to be his long-lost Gram-Gram, save that she was in good health, good state of mind and coming to talk to him later that day. So, he did what he felt was the only thing he could do. He said nothing.

Most of the day passed without event. Weekends were often like this for him, only they usually started a little earlier. In the morning, the trio would sit and talk about what they planned to do when they grew up, or they would listen to one of Cassius’ wild stories, which Edward had begun to write down, since Cassius had not yet learned to write properly. Today they sat on the front steps, Edward tucked neatly into the shaded corner while Cassius and Brianna tanned slowly in the morning air.

Lunch also passed without event, and they moved into the back courtyard to catch the early afternoon rays before they became too intense. Edward, who had all this while felt calm, and cool inside, began to feel somewhat differently. He had been avoiding the subject all morning, but with lunch now eaten and sitting uneasily in the pit of his stomach, the day was half over. There would have to come a time when he told someone, anyone, for that matter, and his friends were likely the best candidates.

I don’t know if you guys heard, he began, but it turns out that I- erm… That I might have a Grandmother.

A what? Cassius said, tilting his head slightly to the side, looking somewhat like a confused puppy.

A Grandmother. You know? Mother of your mother? Brianna said.

"I don’t know," Cassius replied.

Well now you do, Edward said.

A Grandmother? Brianna began, trying to keep the worry from her voice and failing. Isn’t that good news?

I dunno. I guess it’s supposed to be, Edward said.

Cassius shrugged. Sounds like a good thing to me.

When do you meet her? Brianna asked.

Today. Soon, I guess. I only found out just yesterday.

There was a long pause between them. Cassius laid on the grass, and soon after he was joined by his friends. They sat in silent contemplation for a while before quietly agreeing to head inside before the July heat sucked them dry. It was Brianna who spoke first.

Does this mean…? She said, trailing off into silence.

I don’t know what it means, Edward said. You guys can meet her too, if you want. Whenever she comes, that is.