The Door to Lost Pages (6 page)

It was the last day of school. Billy ran out of the classroom, emptied his locker into his school bag, and hurried out of the school building.

On his way home he stopped by The Golden Age comics shop. It was Wednesday. The week’s new comics were out!

“Hi, Bert.” Bert was the guy who ran the comics shop. He was tall and friendly, with glasses that looked a bit too small for his head. He played bass in the band Another Grey Truck; as usual, he had on a sweatshirt emblazoned with the band logo. Bert always treated Billy with respect.

He welcomed the boy with a warm smile. “Hey! How’s it going, Billy? Last day of school, I hear.”

“Finally . . . now I can get back to work.”

“Lots of monsters to kill, huh?”

“You bet, Bert. It’s frantic work trying to cram in a full load of monster hunting on free weekends and school holidays. It’ll be easier now that I can be on the job almost every day.”

Billy glanced at the new-release rack. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d be pretty happy. A lot of your favourites came out today. Here, I put aside the ones I thought you’d want.” Bert handed Billy a stack of new comics.

Jade Sentinel. Doc Shadow. Mister Thunder. Strange Tales of the Sproutworld. The Adventures of Kirby & Jack. Baron Nexus. B.E.M. The Preservers. Spiderkid. Rude Dude. Brimstone Kid. The Immortals. The Time Teens. The Detective of Dreams.

“Wow,” repeated the awed little boy. “This is great! I can’t remember getting so many good comics on the same week.” He carefully inspected all the new releases. “Looks like you got everything, Bert.”

Billy paid for his comics (his dad always gave him enough money for comics because he read them, too) and headed home.

“Hey squirt. You look happy!” Billy’s father was cutting vegetables for tonight’s supper.

“Hi Dad! You bet! Look at these!” Billy whipped out his new comics.

“Whoa! You hit the jackpot today!”

“Did you record my—”

“Of course I did, squirt. Why don’t you read your comics now? I’ll be done here in forty minutes or so; then we can watch the cartoons together.”

“Sounds great, Dad!”

Billy hurried to his bedroom and threw his schoolbag on the bed. Clutching his new comics, he went to the living room and buried himself in the couch to read while he waited for his father to join him to watch today’s episodes of
World’s Best Heroes
,
Chuck Amuck
,
Leave It to Lucky!
, and
Opus the Cat
.

Tomorrow
, he thought (flipping back the cover of
Baron Nexus
),
tomorrow I’ll hunt monsters.

“Hi, I’m Billy. I’m here to get my stuff.”

It was nine, Thursday morning. Aydee had just opened up Lost Pages bookshop for the day. This was the first time she had done it by herself, and already she felt out of her depth. She’d started the day confident she could handle anything. “Your . . . stuff?”

“You’re new here, right? Where’s Lucas? What’s your name? What do you know about monsters?”

“Hey, slow down . . . Billy,” Aydee said, remembering the little boy’s name.

“You don’t look much older than me. Do you really work here?”

For a moment the two children faced each other down. Why was this annoying kid giving her a hard time? Exasperated, Aydee broke the duel and busied herself tidying the counter.

She sighed, and said: “Yeah, I do. I work here. Listen—Lucas will be back soon.” Aydee would be glad to shoo this strange little boy onto Lucas. He should have warned her about him! What else should she know but hadn’t been told?

Billy looked around. “He must be walking the dogs, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, maybe you can help me in the meantime.” He rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out some sheets of paper.

“Do you know if you have anything on this critter? I think it’s a Low Bunny,” he pointed at a drawing of a rabbit with giant fangs and yellow scales, “but I’m not sure.” He pressed on, oblivious to her anxiety. “What about these?” He indicated a roundish construct made up of smaller, multicoloured spheres. “These, I’m pretty sure, are the Bouncing Balls of Boomworld. Or what about these?” He showed her a picture of naked men and women with rainbow skin. “I have no idea where they come from. Do you?”

Aydee was saved from the barrage of questions by the arrival of Lucas’s dogs. They swarmed over Billy, greeting him enthusiastically.

Billy was playfully wrestling with some of the dogs when Lucas spotted him.

“Billy! How you doing? Haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.”

“Yeah . . . I just couldn’t get away. Family stuff, blah, blah, blah.”

Lucas nodded knowingly. “Mmm . . . school must be over by now, right?”

“Yeah, I’m free! But I got lots of work to do today.”

“Busy dreams last night?”

“You bet! Take a look at these.” He handed over his drawings to Lucas.

“You don’t usually dream about Yamesh-Lot,” Lucas said with concern, inspecting the pictures.

Aydee’s blood grew cold at the mention of the dark god’s name. Sometimes, she thought it was crazy to stay here, where she was confronted with these kinds of dangers. But then she remembered that when she had almost fallen prey to Yamesh-Lot she had never heard of him or of Lost Pages.

She strained her neck to get a glimpse of Billy’s drawing. But there was no detail; only a black mass inside a thick white border.

Billy dismissed Lucas’s anxieties. “Don’t worry. That border? That means he’s still contained. It’s all under control.”

Lucas nodded approvingly at the boy’s words, but Aydee wasn’t convinced. Just who and what was this strange little boy? How could he be a match for the lord of nightmares?

Lucas continued to leaf through Billy’s stack; he stopped and gasped, and his eyes grew wide. “Are those the Purple Zombie Rats of the Spectroverse?”

“Yeah, looks like they’re back.”

Addressing his assistant, Lucas said, “Aydee, can you look after the shop alone for a while? I’m gonna be busy in the back with Billy, okay?”

Billy attached the two big pouches Lucas had given him to his bicycle rack. All kinds of sticks and things protruded every which way.

He jumped on his bicycle and waved goodbye to Lucas and Aydee.

Watching the eight-year-old boy ride away, Aydee yelled: “What. Was. That!”

“That, my dear, was Billy, the monster hunter.”

“Don’t be coy, Lucas! Tell me.”

“What can I say? He keeps his monster-hunting equipment here so his parents won’t find it, and I help him out with research so he’s well prepared when he comes up against the monsters he hunts. What’s to tell?”

“Fine. Be that way.”

Billy’s mother tucked him in. “You know, you really should try to be more careful when you’re out playing, my little darling.” She gently brushed her lips over the bruise on his forehead.

“But, Mom, two Weredevils from Planet D’tk jumped me from behind while I was performing a rite to banish the Purple Zombie Rats of the Spectroverse. I managed to suck them into the vortex I conjured for the Zombie Rats, but not before they got in a couple of good smacks.”

She sighed in exasperation, but the sigh turned into a chuckle. She beamed an amused smile at her son.

“Yes, Mom. I’ll be more careful.”
But
, he thought,
the Purple Zombie Rats of the Spectroverse are still on the loose! Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll get them.

Billy’s mother kissed him on the cheek, rose, and turned off the light.

“Sweet dreams, my little man.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

She closed his bedroom door.

Exhausted from his hectic day, Billy fell asleep immediately.

He dreamt.

He dreamt of the Purple Zombie Rats of the Spectroverse (again!) and the Stone Ghouls of the Bottomless Pit and the Fireflies of Doom and the Giant Vampire Mosquitoes of Creepy Island and the Screaming Hulk of Neospace and the Lurking Leeches of the Forbidden Zone.

On the night table next to his bed, there was a fresh stack of white paper and, in a wooden mug, a bunch of well-sharpened colour pencils.

Tomorrow, another busy day awaited Billy, the monster hunter. He would be ready.

Let evil beware!

Aydee had stepped outside with Lucas and the dogs. She enjoyed the misty not-quite-rain and the faint glow of the morning sun attempting to pierce the flimsy cloud cover. When the weather was like this, she felt the world reflected her sense of place in life: neither this nor that; neither here nor there; perpetually on the brink of transformation; unwilling to settle for just one potentiality. The dogs turned the corner, and Lucas vanished after them.

Aydee dug her fingers into her frizzy hair, the dampness comforting her with unarticulated impressions of a nostalgia for a past entirely different from the one she had known, of a primordial memory of the essential moistness of life. She filled her lungs with the finely humid air, felt the contended smile spread on her face, and turned back inside to open Lost Pages for the day.

She was engaged in her futile morning ritual, attempting to put the perpetually chaotic shelves into at least a semblance of order, when the mail arrived. The mail carrier tended to avoid stepping too far inside the store, habitually leaving the mail on the nearest stack of books without making eye contact with either Lucas or Aydee and knocking loudly to announce the day’s delivery. But today a package needed to be signed for, so he nervously approached Aydee, darting a sharp whisper at her: “Signature.” The parcel was for Lucas; except for the occasional correspondence still addressed to Mister Rafael, the mail always was always addressed to either Lucas or the shop. Never to Aydee. Even though she worked here and lived here.

Nevertheless, Aydee sifted through the day’s mail, curious about the exotic stamps—many from countries that might not even exist, as most people reckoned things. Some of the envelopes were illuminated with strange drawings she could not quite make sense of. But it was a thick, plain, oversize white envelope with mundane stamps and no return address that most attracted her curiosity. It was addressed simply to Lost Pages. Its stark austerity intrigued her, commanded her attention.

She heard the sounds of the dogs coming from near the door. Without thinking, she stuffed the letter inside her clothes just as Lucas burst into the store with his pack.

She showed Lucas the day’s mail—minus the purloined white envelope—and, without another word, stepped through to behind the store, to the part of the house where she and Lucas lived. He was so entranced with that parcel Aydee had had to sign for that he didn’t notice—or at least comment on—the girl’s nervousness.

Aydee didn’t know why she’d hidden that envelope. Had she asked, Lucas would have shown her its contents; he wouldn’t have minded if she’d opened it without asking first. It wasn’t his way to be secretive or authoritarian with her. He might be coy, or have a flair for dramatic mystery, but he never out-and-out hid anything or deceived her.

But she wanted this letter to be hers, and hers alone. She wanted something—anything—to be hers. All this—Lost Pages, and all the wonder that came with it—it wasn’t hers. Most of the time, it all felt right, like she belonged here and nowhere else, and certainly not in the world of her nightmares. But sometimes the sensation of being a guest or even an intruder, of this new life being transitional, crept up on her and she would have to fight the panic that threatened to seize her.

Up in her room, she minutely scrutinized the letter. There was nothing to observe. Save for the address of the shop, the envelope was blank and plain. Delicately, she peeled it open and slid out the contents: a thick pile of handwritten pages, torn from a notebook, clipped together with an unsigned typewritten note.

Dear Lost Pages,

I yearn to share this story of my life with someone who will believe me. And I suspect any of you know more of the truth of this tale than I do or ever will. Initially, I thought that writing out the story as a long diary entry would suffice me, but it did not. And so, finally, I decided to send these pages to you.

I need someone to know of, and perhaps even care about, these unusual events that moved me so profoundly—some might say scarred me, but I treasure these memories too much to belittle them so.