The Last Last-Day-of-Summer Read online

  Otto said, “I’ll pedal us out there. You can rest on the handlebars.”

  “You’re extra bossy today, cuz.”

  “I’m sorry if frozen time is getting in the way of your napping.”

  This was about to be a fight. The boys had learned to sense when they were coming on. Sometimes it was words. Yelled words, mean words. In the worst moments, they wrestled and threw punches. Never around Grandma because she’d make them scrub floors, and iron drapes, and weed the garden until they were too exhausted to scuffle. No Grandma around, though.

  Sheed, slowly, a little stiff, stood up. “The time freeze wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t take that camera from Flux.”

  “All of a sudden, Logan County strangeness is my fault, huh?”

  “Today it is.”

  Otto stuffed his notebook in his pocket, dropped his backpack, and clenched his fists. Sheed bent his knees the way Muhammad Ali did in old videos. They drew near.

  The rooftop door swung open on squealing rusty hinges, snatching their attention.

  From inside the shadowy stairwell, the stranger emerged with that bucking sack hoisted on his shoulder and a half-eaten turnover in hand. Through a mouthful of apple goodness, he said, “Hey, fellas. Been waiting on you.”

  The boys remained on guard.

  He strolled closer, taking another chomp of his turnover before kneeling and placing the sack on the rooftop. It—​or whoever was in it—​arched like an inchworm, attempting to creep away. The stranger planted a boot on the sack’s loose edge so it couldn’t go far. He devoured the rest of his pastry, licked crumbs off his fingers when he was done. “I forgot how good these things are.”

  “Who are you?” Otto demanded.

  The stranger’s reflective goggles settled on Otto. “My name”—​his dark, scraggly beard split in a smile—​“is TimeStar.”

  Sheed said, “TimeStar? Your mama named you TimeStar?”

  His smile faltered. “Uh, no. That’s my public identity. My real name is a secret. Because I’m a hero when I’m from.”

  He said hero. And when I’m from, not where. Otto, suspicious, said, “You’re a time-traveling superhero?”

  TimeStar took a wide-legged stance, planted his fists on his hips, and tilted his head toward the sky. A classic superhero pose. “Can’t you tell?”

  Not really. Although he did fall out of a portal, and his clothes looked futuristic.

  Sheed said, “How’d you know about Maneuver #42?”

  TimeStar abandoned his pose. “When I’m from, everybody knows about the Legendary Alston Boys of Logan County. Your maneuvers are well documented.”

  “When is that exactly?” Otto asked.

  “The year 2211.”

  “Why are you here?”

  TimeStar leveled his gaze at Otto. “A sightseeing trip. And”—​he dropped his eyes, became a bit shy—​“I wanted to see the Legendary Alston Boys of Logan County in action. That Laughing Locust adventure is all the rage in my time. There’s—​goodness—​at least three major motion pictures about it.”

  Otto’s jaw dropped. “There are movies about us in the future?”

  “Sure. And Holo-streams, and virtual reality games. Tons of stuff. Traveling to see you live is a very popular vacation excursion.”

  Otto said, “You mean other time travelers have been back to watch us? How come we’ve never seen them?”

  “The Time Bureau dictates that we stay hidden. We cannot, under any circumstances, change things in the past. So you wouldn’t have seen any of my fellow travelers.”

  Sheed held up one finger, skeptical. “You’re not hiding, though. And why are you here now? The Laughing Locusts were months ago.”

  TimeStar shrugged. “Best guess? This time freeze thing disrupted my travel route. Spit me out here unexpectedly. As far as the hiding, since I’m a superhero—​one of the best, mind you—​I’m willing to improvise, given today’s unusual circumstances.”

  Sheed said, “Excuse us.”

  He turned toward the ledge, motioned for Otto to do the same. Otto joined him, occasionally flicking glances over his shoulder at the self-proclaimed hero.

  “You buying any of that?” Sheed asked.

  “It sounds ridiculous. Like something we’d make up on our way to the comic book store,” Otto said. “Mostly.”

  “Why mostly?”

  “He did fall from hole in the sky. Time’s weird today. A time traveler in the mix isn’t so far-fetched, is it?”

  Sheed’s face twisted. “TimeStar, though?”

  “Yeah, that’s stupid. But how’d he know about our maneuvers if at least some of what he’s saying isn’t true?”

  Sheed had no good answer. “Play along?”

  “Might as well.”

  They faced the so-called TimeStar. Otto pointed at the writhing sack by the time traveler’s feet. “What’s going on there?”

  His smile stretched, full and bright. “I brought you a present.”

  The human-size sack kept trying to slink away. TimeStar yanked it back and undid the crisscrossed ties that kept it sealed. When the fabric uncinched wide enough, a blue-gray hand shot out, talon-like nails curving from the fingertips.

  Otto and Sheed screamed and scrambled backwards.

  “It’s okay, guys,” TimeStar said. “She looks much meaner than she is.”

  She?

  The boys took cautious steps forward while TimeStar opened the sack fully. A mop of dusty hair threaded with spiderwebs popped free. Yellow eyes peered from between the ragged split strands, and a hiss spilled from a mouth full of fangs. She wore a frilly black dress that appeared scorched at the edges. A dense swampy mist seeped out of the bag, and her wrists were bound with several loops of twine.

  This was one of the stampeding Clock Watchers they’d spotted from Mr. Archie’s window earlier. She’d been super creepy, floating on a bed of fog. Otto believed TimeStar on this one thing: there was no way this Clock Watcher could be as mean as she looked. Still . . .

  “You kidnapped her?” Sheed said, horrified.

  “No,” said TimeStar, “I apprehended her before she could do more damage. When I found her, she was in Sunshine Cemetery working on some sort of spell around all the graves. I don’t know exactly what she planned, but she’d set up a big banner that said WELCOME BACK! I figured it was best not to let her see that through.”

  “A spell?” said Otto.

  The supposed time traveler knelt beside her, said, “Tell them who you are.”

  Sheed stiffened, expecting some monstrous, cackling squeal of a voice.

  “Hi!” she said, her voice as calm and plain as their social studies teacher. “I’m Witching Hour. You’ve probably met a few of my Clock Watcher colleagues.”

  TimeStar waved her on. “Tell them what you did.”

  “I made that.” Witching Hour pointed at the camera around Otto’s neck. “Probably a little too well. Wouldn’t you say?”

  18

  Witching Hour

  Otto raised the camera, once again considering the impossible way it was put together and the impossible thing it had done.

  Entry #58

  DEDUCTION: A magical camera—​built by a witch—​makes perfect sense in Logan County’s special imperfect way.

  Sheed said, “You’re called Witching Hour?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Are you a witch, or are you an hour?”

  “Both.”

  “Like the way the Golden Hours are time and stylists?” Otto offered.

  “Exactly.”

  Sheed shook his head. “Whatever. Why did you make that camera?”

  Witching Hour threw her head back and cackled, a harsh, gargling laugh that echoed over Fry. They all recoiled. The laugh cut out abruptly, and she returned to the calm voice. “Apologies, I can’t always control the laugh. Anyhow, a naughty being sought me out at my designated time. I was required to help him.”

  “Flux,” TimeStar said.


  As if we didn’t know that’s who she was talking about, Otto thought, annoyed by Captain Obvious.

  Sheed asked, “Is Mr. Flux a Clock Watcher like you and the rest?”

  “No. He is most definitely not part of our family. He is a malicious manifestation from outside of our natural realm.” She burped another short cackle.

  Sheed said, “What realm did he come from?”

  “The only one capable of conjuring such chaos. Yours. A human created Mr. Flux.”

  Otto followed that up with, “What human?”

  Witching Hour poked a talon into her mouth, considering. “I do not know.”

  Otto said, “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

  “I always tell the truth,” she said earnestly. “I’m all about mischief, and nothing causes more mischief than the truth. But you already know that, or else the two of you wouldn’t be keeping so many secrets. Am I right?”

  Witching Hour had wild eyes that seemed to move independently of each other, never focusing on any one thing. So, Otto wasn’t clear on her last statement. “There are three of us. Which two do you mean?”

  Her only response was a fanged grin.

  Frowns all around, and Otto’s immediate reaction was to deny her accusation. But . . . they already didn’t believe TimeStar. If they were right, he was definitely keeping secrets. He wanted to believe that Sheed didn’t keep things from him; only he’d never admitted his crush on Leen Ellison. Could that be one of the secrets she spoke of?

  I’m not keeping any secrets, Otto thought. That wasn’t true either, was it? His cheeks burned with embarrassment. There he was, lying to himself. Proving Witching Hour right.

  Sheed said, “Come on, lady. What kind of secrets are you talking about?”

  Another cackle from Witching Hour, full of extra glee. “I said I always tell the truth. I did not say I always tell. Secrets are the best truths, and silence is always an option.”

  “You’re not going to tell us any more about Mr. Flux, then?”

  She whipped her bird’s nest hair about, a vicious headshake that sent dust and bugs airborne. “Oh no, I’ll tell you all I know about him. I don’t like the circumstances we find ourselves in any more than you. Just because I was compelled to help him doesn’t mean I’m compelled to keep his secrets. Gather ’round, and let ole Witchy tell you a tale!”

  Otto sat. Sheed followed. TimeStar remained standing, and also suspiciously quiet throughout this exchange. If he really was a hero, why was he letting them do all the work?

  Though her wrists were cinched with twine, she cupped her hands together; they bulged and pulsed, as if she had a fidgety mouse trapped between her palms, and white light leaked between her fingers. When she spread her hands, her palms side by side, a tiny globe—​the size of a tennis ball—​floated an inch above her gray-blue skin.

  Witching Hour, as pleasant in her unpleasantness as can be, said, “We share the world. Us Clock Watchers and you humans. Mostly, we’re unaware of each other, since me and my colleagues tend to operate behind the scenes—​in what you might call a different dimension—​and are very focused on our tasks. You only recognize us as your day dragging when you’re bored or flying by when you’re having fun. We dictate when you go to sleep, eat dinner, or start a new season. Even though your measly, inadequate human perceptions don’t normally allow you to see us in our true forms, you know that we’re always there.”

  Sheed raised his hand like they were at school, a question on his mind.

  Witching Hour said, “Except when you go to the bathroom. That would be uncomfortable for everyone.”

  Sheed lowered his hand.

  “I know that seems very crowded,” she continued, “and sometimes it is. A Second Guesser might ride on a Minute Man’s shoulders, while the Minute Man rides Dinner Hour piggyback. A Second Guesser and a Minute Man tried to jump on my shoulders once, but a spider crawled from my hair and scared them off. That spider’s name was Stan.”

  “Is Stan important in this story?” Otto asked, taking notes.

  “A good spider is always important. Remember that, boys.”

  All righty, then.

  Witching Hour’s toothy grin shrank a bit on the next part. “The thing you have to understand is even though we share the same world, humans and Clock Watchers never truly mingled before, not like we are now. Until Mr. Flux broke the rules and changed everything.”

  “With your help.” Sheed wasn’t letting her off the hook.

  “Us Clock Watchers have unyielding natures. When he approached me with mischief in his heart at the exact stroke of midnight, I couldn’t say no.”

  Sheed said, “Hey, TimeStar, what do you think about all this?”

  TimeStar fidgeted, twisting a single dreadlock around his pointer finger. “I think you two should listen. While I also listen, I mean.”

  What is his deal? thought Otto.

  Witching Hour continued, “This part of your world, your Logan County, is different than most places. If there’s a location for our respective dimensions to crisscross in unexpected and dangerous ways, it’s here. Mr. Flux was the victim of such an occurrence. He is not a man, and he is not a Clock Watcher. He is a Missed Opportunity.”

  The boys shot each other puzzled looks. Otto said, “He’s mad because he missed out on something?”

  “No! He is the opportunity that was missed. A bitter castoff. Someone could’ve done something, but they didn’t. A common occurrence, really. But, in this strange place, common can become uncommon in the blink of an eye. Correct?”

  The boys and TimeStar nodded. This was Logan County.

  Witching Hour said, “Mr. Flux found himself trapped between humans and time. Ignored by people and Clock Watchers, he became rage-filled and perhaps a bit insane. He seethed and festered and plotted, waiting for a time and the means to strike at us all. Today.

  “He sought me out, asked for passage into the human dimension and a tool to exact his revenge. I didn’t want to do it; my strict nature as a troublemaker compelled me. But, being as mischievous as I am, I built a safeguard into the device so its initial use had to be triggered by a Clock Watcher or human. I knew none of my colleagues would do the dirty deed . . . We’re too busy. And I thought perhaps any humans he came across would be way too smart to fall for his schemes.”

  Otto and Sheed suddenly found their sneakers very interesting.

  Witching Hour clapped her palms together, smooshing the globe. “Clearly I was mistaken.”

  “Why’s he doing this, though?” Sheed, grim and scared, said. “What does he want?”

  “To ensure no one in Fry ever misses an opportunity again. If you haven’t noticed, he succeeded.”

  19

  Last Place You Look

  “No way!” Sheed popped up, tired of story time, tired of doing nothing. (Truthfully, just plain tired. He was sore and still a little winded from all of the day’s activity, though now was no time for rest.) “You’re acting like he won. We got news for you, Witching Hour. He’s done. We tossed him in the creek. Now tell us how to unfreeze time.”

  For the first time, even after admitting her role in today’s mess, Witching Hour seemed shamefaced. She pressed her palms together again; more light leaked between her fingers. “That is the most mischievous part of his plan. Only he can undo it.”

  Suddenly, throwing Mr. Flux into the Eternal Creek did not seem like the victory Sheed had thought it was. If he was the only one who could fix this, and he was stuck in a creek loop . . .

  Witching Hour cackled again. “Him, or perhaps the person who created him in the first place.” She spread her palms, and what floated there was not a globe or some other fantastic visual. It was scissors.

  The freshly cut twine fell away from her wrists.

  “Get her,” Otto said, too late.

  Sneaky quick, Witching Hour sprang to her feet and darted between Otto and Sheed.

  “Hey!” TimeStar said with jerking awareness,
like he’d fallen asleep on his feet.

  Some reflexes for a superhero, Otto thought.

  She reached the bakery ledge, faced them. “I’m sorry, boys. You seem nice, but I wasn’t lying about mischief being my nature. Just do us all a favor and fix this mess so I can get back to my regularly scheduled programs. Witching Hour gotta witch.” She gave a cutesy finger wave. “Toodles.”

  Witching Hour leapt off the building.

  Otto, Sheed, and TimeStar rushed the ledge, all afraid of seeing a splatted Witching Hour on the sidewalk below. She wasn’t splatted; she zoomed away on her bed of swamp fog.

  TimeStar smacked his own forehead. Rushed to the fire escape. “I’m going after her.”

  “Wait!” the boys said.

  “We might need her.” He swung one leg onto the rusty ladder, then the other, and descended. “I’ll handle it. You go find A.M. and P.M., and I’ll catch up later.”

  TimeStar was gone.

  “How did we let her get away?” Sheed said, mad at himself.

  “How did we let him get away?” said Otto, also mad, though he stared awful hard at Sheed.

  “What? Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Did you hear what he said? He told us to find A.M. and P.M. How did he know we call them that?”

  “Maybe all our stuff really is in the historical records where he comes from. That would mean he’s not lying about the future. That’s good news, right?”

  Otto wasn’t so sure.

  They left the bakery roof and returned to the last place they saw the Golden Hours. Fry High.

  * * *

  It was slow climbing the hill to the high school. Sheed dragged, opting to walk beside his bike rather than ride it, meaning Otto walked, too. How long had they been at this? There was no true way to tell. With time frozen, the sun didn’t move. The sky didn’t change. They could have been chasing Clock Watchers for days.

  The school library, crammed with Clock Watchers the last time they were there, was utterly deserted. No A.M., or P.M., or anyone.