Young Writers Society

Nora led us back to the bench we had been sitting. Sometimes with Nora, you ask questions. Other times, you just watch. Now, we were both just watching.

“Sit,” she said. We sat. “Last month, I was given the responsibility to look through donated books to see if they are fit for the library shelves. Mrs. Prichard used to do this, but she said that I might enjoy it.

“I did. I like looking through old books. So many little moments surround them. The pages people earmarked, the notes written inside, and the coffee spilled on pages. But this one”-Nora pulled a book out of her backpack-“is a whole new level. The book is about modern art and its history. Kinda boring read, but it talks about this one super contested piece of art. It's called Blue That Knows. This work of art isn’t very famous, but the few people who know about it have very strong feelings. It hit the art world hard when it was anonymously donated to a museum. Since then, it has been vandalized, fixed, fought over, and stolen. People hate and love this piece. It’s talked about as if it is a religion. I was excited to see it, but the page with a picture of it was torn out. The book describes Blue That Knows rarely, but from what I can gather is that it’s super simple. Just a few colors. Not like a picture of anything that would cause these kinds of emotions. I now really wanted to see this painted. So I googled it, but guess what? It’s not anywhere online. I only found a link back to this book and a local news article in Alabama about someone stealing it. But there is no picture of it.

“Blue That Knows has been missing for twenty years now. But I wanted to see it, so I googled the author of the book’s name, and it’s a pen name. The only result was this book. And even better, the book is out of print. This would have been the end of my search, but in the front of the book were two names.

“Maybe one of them tore out the page. The first was faded, old, and had been crossed out, but it was still readable, ‘Warlock Madruga.’ Weird name, easily googleable. Only a couple results, a Facebook account, and an obituary. The Facebook account is for an old guy of the same name. He lives here in Lincon, or did. The obituary is for that old guy. He died like two weeks ago. That’s probably why the books were donated.”

“Wow,” Kurt said.

“And the next name?” I asked. This was causing the edges of my brain to buzz with questions. Kurt was just sitting there.

“Oh, that’s the real mystery. See, the first name was crossed out with relatively fresh red ink, and the second name was below the first and written in the same pen. So, it obviously came after the other name. Why would someone put their name on a book only to donate it? The name was Meridie Autem Lapis, even weirder name. I googled it, no results.” She exclaimed, throwing her hands about as she explained.

“Meridie Autem Lapis,” I repeated, “How is that spelled?” She handed me the book open to the first page. There were two names written in the upper corner. A smile broke across my face. “The reason you didn’t get results is because that is not a name. That’s Latin, and If I’m not mistaken, it means south of the Stone.”

They paused and processed that, “What does that mean?” Kurt asked.

“What if it’s like a clue? Like this is a treasure hunt?” Nora asked. Nora loved to turn everything into an adventure. But rarely did things pan all the way out to what she hoped.

“But why would a dude leave a clue in a book he was donating to the library? In Latin? What has he left behind?” I wondered aloud.

Nora looked at me, “I don’t know, but wouldn’t you love to." I scoffed. "I’m not saying it has to be a clue, but let that be our standing theory. If it was a clue, what would it mean?”

We kept eye contact for a moment, and I tried to decide if I would humor her. But it was too late. She had already planted the seed of curiosity. “Okay, this was added after the other one, and recently, so maybe right before the death, or right after. It has to be Wyloch himself or someone in close enough to him to handle that book. If it's a clue, it's probably directions to a location. Stone could be many things. But a good clue would be specific if you are the person the clue is meant for. Assuming the clue was left for us the info would have to be evident. I do not know of any famous local stones. So, is there a stone mentioned in the book?” I asked. One of the consequences of intense curiosity is you get okay at figuring things out quickly.

“No,” Nora said, smiling.

“Okay, assuming the clue was supposed to be based on the information we have,” I paused, and it clicked. Things did that a lot for me, everything would shift, and it would just make sense. “There is only one remaining ‘stone’ they could be referring to. So, if you are correct and this is a clue, it is telling us to go south of Wylocks Gravestone.”

They both paused, and Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. It’s a nice walk to the graveyard. May as well check,” Kurt said

Nora jumped up and down in excitement. “That is the coolest thing you have ever done, Clark!” Nora cried. I stood up and bowed; I did feel pretty cool. But more importantly, I wanted to see if I was right.

We set off immediately to the cemetery, taking the nice spring day walk through our small-town.

We found the grave in the corner of the cemetery among the trees and bushes. The grass hadn’t grown over it yet, and the headstone looked fresh. “Warlock Madruga, 1927-2019,” Kurt read from the simple white headstone. We began to search a well-trimmed bush that sat to the south of the graveyard. After a couple minutes of fruitless crawling in the dirt, all we had found was an old brick with a masons mark and an empty bottle of Dasani water.

“This can’t be it,” Nora said, sitting on the ground and holding the piece of trash. “Is anything even here?” She began searching again. I chewed the inside of my cheek. It was looking increasingly likely I was wrong.

Kurt seemed unaffected by our failure to find anything. Instead, he picked up the brick and studied it. “This is old but in good condition. It obviously was in a building at some point. There is still some mortar on it. By the condition, color, and the markings on it, it’s probably from that antique shop.” Both me and Nora were still searching in the dirt, so we barely paid attention to his brick ramblings. He continued talking anyway, “Y’know the one next to the pizza place on main street? It’s under construction right now. That’s probably why the brick isn’t in it. I just don’t know how it ended up here.” He thought allowed. Nora and I stopped, looked at each other, and whirled around to face him.

“Kurt, how in the name of Wylock Madruga, do you remember where a random brick is from?” I asked.

He shrugged, “I dunno, I notice things. This brick had a masons mark, which is kinda like a way a brickmaker signs their work. All they need to do is sign one in every hundred bricks, and you know where all of them came from. Also, it's pretty. I’ve been going to that pizza place a lot next to the antique store. The store has good bricks, I like looking at them.”

Nora’s face lit up like the sun. She covered her mouth, and her eyes wrinkled with a smile, “I’m pretty sure laughing in the graveyards gets you haunted,” I teased.

“I think you just found a clue to where we need to go next,” Nora said, voice filled with smiles. Kurt's traditional bear grin appeared.

But then I had to think about it. My greatest flaw, thinking. I began to shake my head sadly. "It’s probably just a brick. How would they know we could recognize a brick? It just seems like grasping at straws. We would go there, and then what? And even if it is a clue, the place is thirty minutes away by car, and we don't have a car, and I don't really know if I wanna waste thirty minutes.” I pointed out, looking around at them. The excitement deflated like a popped party balloon. Kurt’s colossal smile slid off his face, and Nora punched the ground angrily.

“And it’s under construction, so we wouldn’t be allowed in anyway.” Kurt agreed glumly.

“Better to think about it than go anyways. Even if we find the painting, it won’t be as good as we expected. Modern art is rarely what it’s made out to be. Probably just some boring blue on a boring canvas in a boring room somewhere,” Nora said, standing up and angrily wiping the dirt off her pants. “Another boring question that we can’t answer.” She said, angrily kicking the Dasani bottle. We looked at her, shocked, and she angrily furrowed her brow in response.

Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly, and I opened my mouth to say something, but we were interrupted by the sound of a car horn. I turned to find the source of the sound; it had come from a car at the gate of the graveyard. That car was a dying 2007 Honda Civic. I believe it to be the most boring car humanity has ever devised. This specific breed of boring was my brother Mat’s. The car was a silvery color and one huge long scratch that it had sustained in its 8 years of service to my family. Mat had taken the car with him to college, and whenever he came back, he was set on an infinite amount of errands to pay my parents back for it - most of which he squirmed out of. But it seemed today he hadn’t managed to do such a thing.

Mat stuck his head out the window and looked over to us. “Why are you hanging out in a graveyard?” He asked incredulously.

“We like the company of the dead,” Nora replied glumly for me.

“Cool, cool. Well, Mom thinks you need a haircut, Clark. We have family pictures tomorrow, so get in.” He said, rolling up the window and putting the car in drive as if we would drive away if I didn’t get in soon.

I said a quick apology and goodbye to my friends, and then ran over to my brother’s car. I jumped down the curb and slid into the shotgun. The car was immaculate. Mat desperately wanted a nice car but didn’t have the money, so he had to make do with half working honda civic.

“Mom said I had to get my haircut now?” I complained, directing my frustration at the situation towards my brother.

“Yeah, she said we don’t have much time. Especially because I had to search half of the town for you.” Mat replied, not looking at me as he made a three-point turn.

“Okay,” I replied, “My bike is in town. Could we swing by and grab that?”

“Nah, sorry, I have a busy day. Going to a junkyard. We can grab it another time.” Matt said as he pulled up to a stop sign and turned on his right turn signal.

“Junkyard?”

“Yeah, Tom and I found it. Looks like a cool place to poke around.” He said. Tom was Matt’s best friend.

“Like, your breaking in?” I asked. Matt had a track record for going places he wasn’t entirely allowed.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as heck not asking anyone. I’m more of an ask for forgiveness, not permission sorta guy.” Mat replied. The road cleared, and he turned right.

“So you're committing what might be a crime just to see what’s probably a bunch of junk?” I asked.

“We’ll see where it goes. You got to jump into the dark if you ever want to do anything great. If you try something new, something dangerous, maybe you'll get rich.” Mat said, a mix of self-serious and unfocused, his attention probably on happily speeding up well above the speed limit. The car was a hybrid, and its battery was dead, so it accelerated like a two-legged drugged dog who has been told that it has made a mess, but that didn’t stop Mat from speeding. As I half-listened to my brother's lecture and stared out the window at my friends across the graveyard, a feeling came over me that I hadn't ever had. Like a dam breaking, years of held back impulsiveness and rule-breaking flooded over me. Who was going to stop me?

“Stop the car,” I said calmly, turning to Mat.

“What?” Mat asked, glancing at me but continuing to accelerate the car.

“Stop the car now,” I repeated, “And you might get twenty bucks.” The car came to a jerking halt.

I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. “Kurt, Nora! Come over here! I have a plan!” I belted across the graveyard. I knew Kurt would be onboard. He was like a Golden Retriever, loyal and along for the ride. Nora would have been normally, but she didn't seem in the best mood right now. Kurt jogged over with Nora in-tow, who was slower from a mix of reluctance and shorter legs.

“Kurt, you got twenty bucks?” I asked as he reached me. Kurt fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, Kurt always had money, and he was always too nice not to let me take advantage of that. I took the twenty from his hand and passed it to Mat.

“Is that enough for a ride to that antique shop on main?” I asked as he yanked it out of my hands and studied it.

“For five more, you get control of the music,” My brother replied. I produced five dollars, though it was not as crisp as Kurts, wrinkled and haphazardly shoved in the corner of my jeans pocket, it was money all the same.

"It doesn't look like you're getting a haircut today," Kurt said, a smile creeping up his face as I handed Matt the money.

"No, it doesn't," I said, stepping out of the car. "But more importantly, we are getting a ride, and you can have shotgun," I said, gesturing at the seat.

He jumped in and put his feet up onto the dashboard, "Sounds good, but if we get arrested for breaking into an antique mall, I was a hostage, not an accomplice."

"It's a deal," I said with a smile.

Matt pushed Kurt's feet off the dashboard. “If you get my car dirty, I’m dropping you all off at the curb of the barber."

I opened the backdoor. “It’s better than just dreaming, right, Nora? Don't you want to make your own stories?” I gestured towards the seat.

“I’ve never been sure if there is anything better than dreaming,” Nora sighed, but then raised her chin up and smiled. “But if there is, it's finding a missing work of art by breaking into an old brick building with your friends.” She ducked down into the car. I ran around to the other side and jammed myself into the other backseat. A huge smile lighting my face as I closed the door with a slam.

“I’m such a good brother, Clark. I convinced you to go on an adventure with my wise words about seizing your moment.” Matt said, accelerating the car as fast as he could once more. (Which wasn't very fast.)

“No, I just remembered your love of money, and I thought I could exploit that to get a ride.”

***