Franklin Endicott and the Third Key Read online

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Coda

  Frank Endicott was a worrier.

  He worried a lot.

  He worried about leprosy (who wouldn’t worry about leprosy?) and lions (they were such alarmingly violent creatures). He worried about tests (not being properly prepared for them), black holes (what happened if you got sucked into them?), and armadillos (transmitters of leprosy).

  Frank worried about alligators. They looked sluggish and slow moving, but in fact, they were not slow moving at all. Alligators could move very, very quickly when they were motivated to do something — eat you, for instance.

  Frank worried about submarines (getting trapped on one), brown recluse spiders (being bitten by one), vampire bats (carriers of rabies), and rabies (which could kill you).

  Also, Frank worried about goats.

  There was no good reason to worry about goats, but Frank worried about them nonetheless — their eyes were so unnerving and otherworldly.

  Frank had so many things that he worried about that he kept a notebook exclusively for his worries. He listed the worries alphabetically. He indexed them and cross-referenced them.

  He felt that his worries were legitimate — fact based and solidly researched (except, perhaps, for the goat worry) — but Frank was embarrassed by how many worries he had.

  Were his worries out of control?

  Was his worrying excessive?

  It worried him to think so.

  Frank had a little sister named Stella, and (he couldn’t help it) it worried him to think that Stella would discover his notebook and read the gruesome facts recorded within its pages and become a worrier herself.

  And so, Frank started hiding the worry notebook under his bed.

  And that’s when the nightmares began.

  They were terrifying — filled with goat eyes and speedy alligators and vicious lions and all-consuming black holes. And also, armadillos.

  Sometimes, the dreams were so terrible (being stuck on a submarine with an armadillo, for instance) that Frank woke up screaming, and Stella had to come into his room and kneel by his bed and hold his hand and tell him that everything was going to be fine, that he was safe.

  Frank appreciated her kindness very much, but he was also somewhat dismayed by it. He was the big brother, after all; he should be comforting her.

  After several nights of nightmares, Frank took the notebook out from underneath the bed. He moved it downstairs to the hall closet. He put it on the top shelf.

  The nightmares, alas, continued.

  Frank decided something had to change.

  And so one day after school, Frank went over to the Lincoln sisters’ house and knocked on the door.

  Eugenia Lincoln answered. She looked slightly annoyed. But then, Eugenia Lincoln always looked slightly annoyed. Frank was used to it.

  “Yes, Franklin?” she said.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank. “I was wondering if I might use your encyclopedias to do a bit of research.”

  “Certainly,” said Eugenia, who approved of research. “I extend you carte blanche.” She held the door open wide.

  “Thank you,” said Frank. He went into the Lincoln sisters’ living room and stood before the Bingham Lincoln Encyclopedia set. The books had been written by the Lincoln sisters’ grandfather, Bingham Lincoln, and they were very old. The entries were dense and comprehensive and featured many colorful and instructive illustrations. Reading one entry naturally led to another entry and then another volume, and a slowly burgeoning belief that the world was an orderly, reasonable place — a belief that Frank very much wanted to subscribe to.

  “Make sure you return everything to its rightful place,” said Eugenia Lincoln.

  “Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  Baby Lincoln stuck her head into the living room. She said, “Hello, Franklin. Grandfather Lincoln would be so happy to see how you appreciate his encyclopedias.”

  “Franklin is engaged in research, Baby,” said Eugenia. “Do not disturb him.”

  “Yes, Sister,” said Baby. Baby always agreed with Eugenia. Or at least she pretended to.

  Baby Lincoln and Eugenia Lincoln disappeared, and Frank settled in with the encyclopedias. He followed the “nightmare” entry to the “ancient myth” entry. He read about night witches and demons and goblins and trolls. He read that in some cultures, there were mythical creatures that actually consumed nightmares. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone sit at the foot of your bed and eat your nightmares?

  But where could Frank find a creature bold enough to face his nightmares and hungry enough to devour them?

  Suddenly, Frank had an idea — a marvelous idea, a comforting idea.

  He closed the encyclopedia with a decisive thump. He gathered up his notebook and his pencils and pens.

  “Thank you very much,” he called out to the Lincoln sisters.

  “I hope you returned everything to its rightful place,” Eugenia shouted back.

  “Come again,” said Baby.

  Frank left the Lincolns’ house and went down the street and knocked on the Watsons’ door.

  Mrs. Watson answered. “Frank,” she said. “How lovely to see you.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Watson,” said Frank. “I have a somewhat unusual request.”

  “Yay, yay!” said Stella. “It’s a slumber party with a pig. I want to sleep in here, too!”

  “It’s not a slumber party with a pig,” said Frank. “It’s a scientific experiment. I will keep you posted as to its efficacy. In the meantime, I will have to request that you sleep in your own room.”

  “Shoot,” said Stella. “I never get to have any fun.” She turned and left Frank’s room very slowly.

  “Now,” said Frank. He looked at Mercy. He stared into the pig’s eyes. He said, “I need you to stay awake. I need you to consume my nightmares. Do you understand?”

  Mercy stared back at him. She blinked.

  Frank wasn’t sure that she comprehended what was expected of her. It was hard to tell what pigs were thinking. Their eyes were so small.

  Frank got into bed. He said, “Stay right there, Mercy. Stay vigilant and true.”

  The pig snorted.

  Frank turned off the light.

  “Okay,” he said to the darkness and to the pig, “here we go.”

  Frank dreamed about a flying alligator. The alligator’s wings were constructed from old umbrellas, and in the dream, the alligator hovered above Frank smiling a toothy, terrifying smile. The dream was suffused with an air of impending doom.

  Frank woke with a jolt. His heart was thumping loudly. He was sweating. Mercy had taken over most of the bed and pushed Frank to the very edge.

  The pig was snoring loudly. She had protected him from nothing.

  Frank stared up at the ceiling. What if Mercy rolled over her in her sleep and crushed him? He sighed. What a ridiculous worry. But still, he got up, went downstairs, and heated some milk in a saucepan. According to the Bingham Lincoln Encyclopedia, warm milk was an effective sleep aid.

  Frank looked out the window and saw that the Lincolns’ kitchen light was on. He could see Eugenia Lincoln’s profile. She looked annoyed.

  Frank added more milk to the saucepan. He got a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote a note to his parents and Stella: Dear Family, if you wake and find me gone, do not worry. I have simply journeyed next door to visit Eugenia Lincoln. I will, of course, return. Yours, Frank. He put the note on the kitche
n table.

  When the milk was sufficiently warm, Frank added some honey and a little cinnamon, poured the milk into two mugs, and went out the back door and across the yard to the Lincoln sisters’ house.

  He knocked on the side door. He called out, “Miss Lincoln? I had a terrible nightmare. I’ve brought you some warm milk. Can I come inside?”

  Frank and Eugenia sat together at the kitchen table. Frank told Eugenia about his worry notebook, and how placing it under his bed had led to some unfortunate and very disturbing nightmares, the most recent of which had featured an alligator who had fashioned wings from an umbrella.

  “Ludicrous,” said Eugenia Lincoln. “Absurd. Alligators don’t have wings. And since they don’t have opposable thumbs, they are incapable of constructing wings. Furthermore, you are afraid of too many things, Franklin.”

  “Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  There was something oddly comforting about Eugenia’s brusqueness, her cavalier dismissal of his nightmare, and her annoyed insistence that he was too afraid of too many things.

  Frank said, “Are you often awake in the middle of the night, Miss Lincoln?”

  “That is entirely too personal a question,” said Eugenia. She took a sip of her warm milk. She sighed. She said, “Yes, I am often awake in the middle of the night. I am a lifelong sufferer of insomnia.”

  “I’ve read about insomnia,” said Frank.

  “Yes, well, reading about insomnia is one thing. Suffering it is another.”

  “Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  A silence descended. Frank noticed that there was a single key in the center of the kitchen table.

  “What’s the key for, Miss Lincoln?” he said.

  “The key needs to be duplicated,” said Eugenia. “That’s tomorrow’s task — one of tomorrow’s tasks. When you can’t sleep, the best thing to do is to concentrate on life’s daily tasks, to attend to the mundane. Tomorrow, I will attend to my business. I will go and get the key duplicated.”

  Attending to the mundane struck Frank as a very comforting notion.

  “Can I go with you?” said Frank. “Can I help you attend to your daily tasks?”

  “I suppose you may,” said Eugenia.

  “Thank you, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank. He got up from the table and returned home. He could hear Mercy snoring as soon as he entered the house.

  He went upstairs and walked down the hallway and looked in Stella’s room and saw that Mercy was in Stella’s bed.

  Stella was smiling. She had her arm draped over the leg of the pig.

  Frank got back in bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes and saw the key sitting on the kitchen table.

  “Attend to the mundane,” he said to himself. “Do your daily tasks.”

  And with the key glowing brightly in his mind, Frank Endicott fell asleep.

  The next day, Frank went downtown with Eugenia Lincoln.

  “Here we are,” said Eugenia. She stopped in front of a store called Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. There was a small sign propped in the plate glass window. The sign said KEYS MADE, SAWS SHARPENED, MYSTERIES CONSIDERED, USED ITEMS BOUGHT AND SOLD.

  Did the considering of mysteries and the making of keys really belong in the same sentence?

  Frank didn’t think so.

  “Shouldn’t we go to a hardware store for key duplication?” said Frank.

  “I use Buddy Lamp,” said Eugenia. “I have always used Buddy Lamp, and I will continue to use Buddy Lamp.”

  “Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  “I am very set in my ways,” said Eugenia Lincoln. “And Buddy Lamp is utterly reliable.”

  “If you say so,” said Frank. He stared at the window display for Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. It featured a mannequin wearing a green suit. The mannequin had no head; furthermore, a dead weasel was sitting on the headless mannequin’s right shoulder. The weasel’s lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing very sharp weasel teeth.

  Frank took a step backward. He wished that he had his notebook with him. He felt a strong urge to make an entry, to write down the words weasel teeth.

  “Maybe I’ll just wait in the car, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.

  “You will not wait in the car, Franklin Endicott,” said Eugenia. “You will step forward bravely. That is what you will do.” She opened the door to Buddy Lamp’s. A cluster of sleigh bells affixed to the door handle jingled in a merry, heedless way. “After you,” said Eugenia Lincoln.

  Frank stepped into the dark interior of Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. He immediately bumped into somebody.

  “Pardon me,” said Frank.

  He turned and found himself face-to-face with Napoleon Bonaparte, a man who appeared quite often in the Bingham Lincoln Encyclopedia set.

  “Aaack,” said Frank.

  “Ah,” said a voice, “he is, indeed, quite lifelike. Isn’t he? He hails from a first-rate, but now defunct, wax museum in Toledo, Ohio. I am quite pleased to have procured him.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Lamp,” said Eugenia.

  A man slowly emerged from the gloom. He was very tall. His hair was gray. He looked like someone made from a piece of paper that had been folded over and over again until it was creased and worn.

  “Good afternoon to you, Miss Lincoln. I see that you’ve brought a friend.” The man bowed in Frank’s direction.

  Frank, uncertain of the proper protocol, bowed back.

  “Mr. Lamp,” said Eugenia. “I would like to introduce you to my good friend and neighbor, Franklin Endicott.”

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Buddy Lamp.

  “I have come to have a duplicate key made,” said Eugenia. She held out the key to Buddy Lamp, who took it from her and bowed again.

  “I have several other errands to attend to,” said Eugenia. “Franklin, I will have you wait here and procure the keys.”

  “Wait here?” said Frank. His voice squeaked in alarm. It was so dark in the store, and Buddy Lamp was so odd. Also, Frank felt as if Napoleon Bonaparte were staring right at him. He could feel other things waiting in the shadows — strange things, worrisome things, things that should probably be recorded and indexed in the worry notebook.

  “I will return shortly,” said Eugenia Lincoln.

  She pushed open the door of Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. The sleigh bells emitted their festive jingle.

  “Humdee dum dee,” said Buddy Lamp. “I will get busy on this key immediately, young Mr. Endicott. In the meantime, if you would like to peruse what is on offer here in the store, I extend you a hearty welcome to do just that. Let your curiosity be piqued. Allow yourself the freedom to explore, to question, to revel in life’s myriad mysteries!”

  “Okay,” said Frank, even though he wasn’t all that fond of reveling in mysteries.

  Buddy Lamp went behind the counter. Soon, there was the soft whir of a machine, the busy sound of something being made.

  Frank stood in the gloom. Truly, he felt a little reluctant to move. Who knew what other wax-figure emperors were waiting to leap out at him?

  But deep within the store, Frank saw something glinting, beckoning.

  He took a step forward, and then another step.

  And soon, Franklin Endicott was swallowed by the shadows.

  It turned out that the shelves of Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods were stocked with an amazing assortment of things.

  The first item that Frank picked up — the glinting thing that had beckoned him farther into the store — was a large chunk of amber. It was beautiful. Frank held it up to the dim light and saw that inside the golden amber some long-dead insect was suspended, trapped for all eternity.

  Wouldn’t it be terrible to be stuck for all eternity inside a piece of amber?

  Frank shivered.

  He carefully put the amber (and its doomed insect) back on the shelf.

  He picked up a magic set. The edges of the box were frayed and held together with yellowed tape.


  SWEETLAND’S MAGIC SET. BECOME THE NEXT HOUDINI IF YOU DARE. AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS! PUNISH YOUR ENEMIES! MAKE THINGS APPEAR AND DISAPPEAR AT WILL!

  Frank shook the box. Something inside of it rattled in a forlorn way.

  Frank had read a great deal about the magician Harry Houdini. Houdini had been able to pick locks and break chains and hold his breath for an incredibly long time. Frank doubted very seriously that the Sweetland’s Magic Set held the necessary materials for a person to become the next Houdini.

  He returned the box to the shelf without even looking inside, and then he stood with his hands behind his back and considered a jar that seemed to be filled with eyeballs. But that couldn’t be, could it? How could you put eyeballs in a jar? Who would put eyeballs in a jar?

  Next to the eyeball jar, there was a stovepipe hat, the kind of hat that Abraham Lincoln would have worn.

  The store had grown suddenly quiet. The whir of the key-making machine had been silenced.

  Frank looked up.

  “Eeep,” he said. He jumped a small jump.

  Buddy Lamp had soundlessly materialized out of nowhere to stand beside Frank.

  “I see you are admiring the stovepipe hat,” said Buddy Lamp. “I’m happy to inform you that yes, indeed, it does date from the time of Abraham Lincoln. As to whether Mr. Lincoln wore this particular hat — well, that is a matter for some debate. I myself like to think that Mr. Lincoln did wear it, and that some of his wisdom and humor and kindness still reside within it.”

  “Abraham Lincoln was a very great man,” said Frank.

  “On that point, you are and I are in perfect agreement.”

  Frank stole a glance at Buddy Lamp. The man was so insubstantial that it seemed possible he could go up in a puff of smoke at any moment.

  “Humdee dum dee,” said Buddy Lamp.

  A profound silence descended.

  The items in the gloomy store shifted and sighed.