AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If I’m correct,” Swanson went on, “the Poe Toaster appears at the grave sometime between midnight and six a.m. And still, droves of people go every year just to stand outside in the freezing cold for a mere chance at sighting him. Maniacs, I’m telling you. There’s even a committee of people who watch from inside the church just to make sure no one attempts to get in the Toaster’s way or, heaven forbid, unmask the poor fellow.”
“Hold on,” Isobel said, blinking hard. “You mean people have tried?”
“Of course they have,” he said. “With anything like this, you’re always going to have the occasional nutcase who wants to ruin the mystery for everyone. Don’t worry, though. So far, no one’s ever been successful. Somehow the Poe Toaster always manages to give everyone the slip. From what I understand, the whole thing is over very quickly.”
“But . . . ,” Isobel said. Hugging her notebook close, she took a step toward his desk. “If everyone goes to watch for him every year, why aren’t there more pictures of him circulating on the web? How come there’s only the one?”
“Ah.” Dropping the eraser into the chalk tray, he turned to face her again, dusting his hands off. By the coy smile on his face, Isobel could tell that he was enjoying the barrage of questions. “That’s because no one ever actually sees him. Unless of course you’re inside the graveyard itself, like the group that watches from the church. You see, what many people fail to realize is that there are two gravestones in that cemetery bearing Poe’s name.”
“Two?” Isobel said. “How can anyone be buried in two places at once?”
“Oh, while I’m sure that’s quite possible if you use your imagination,” he said with a wry laugh, “the reason Poe has two gravestones is because one stands as the marker of his original burial place. That’s the stone that you see in that grainy photo where the Poe Toaster is kneeling. Sometime in the late 1800s, Poe was exhumed and moved to a more prominent location at the front of the cemetery. This was so those wanting to pay their respects to the famous author of ‘The Raven’ wouldn’t have to go traipsing through the back end, searching for a grave that happened to be unmarked anyway. The monument that stands at the front gate of the cemetery is where Poe now rests. A very visible spot, but sadly, not the one the Toaster chooses to pay tribute to. I’m surprised you two didn’t come across any of this in your research.”
“You said Poe was buried in an unmarked grave?”
Mr. Swanson nodded. “For a long time, that’s where he remained. He never really had a proper funeral. The original ceremony was very quick and cheap. There were only a few people in attendance, somewhere around eight or nine. Quite sad if you think about it.”
“Yeah,” Isobel said. “Sad.”
“Perhaps when Mr. Nethers, our resident Poe expert, returns we can ask him what he knows about it.”
At his mention of Varen, Isobel glanced up at him and their eyes met.
Yet another well-devised trap she realized too late, because now she couldn’t seem to break away, caught yet again in the unflinching beam of that pleading look she found so impossible to evade.
“You do think we’ll see him again in the near future, don’t you?” he asked.
Isobel started to respond, but no words would come. How could she offer him an answer to that question when she didn’t even have one for herself?
It was going to be like this every day from here on out, she thought. Even if he didn’t hold her behind to question her outright like he had today, as long as Mr. Swanson thought she knew something, as long as he thought she cared, then Isobel knew he would stop at nothing to extract the truth from her.
Suddenly, with that thought, it dawned on her exactly what it would take in order to deflect him. Before she could give it even one more moment of consideration, Isobel began to speak.
“Look, Mr. Swanson,” she began. “I know there are a lot of rumors floating around about what went on between me and Varen but . . . none of it’s true. For starters, we never went out,” she continued, taking care to keep her gaze squarely on his. “Believe me, that would so never happen.”
Again, his brows drew in close together. Clearly, her words confused him.
In her chest, her heart began to pound wildly, hard enough and loud enough that she actually feared he might hear. “In fact, we never saw each other outside of class except those times we had to meet for the project.”
As Mr. Swanson listened, his face grew more and more grim. He didn’t say anything, but Isobel could see a dimness settling in around his sharp gray eyes as well, as though someone had turned down the wattage of his hope.
“To be honest,” she said, plowing on, unable to stop herself, “we didn’t even get along. But I had to put up with it because I needed a passing grade. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to go to Nationals.” Isobel raised her hand, flashing the championship ring. “When he and I started working on the project together, it turned into this big thing.” She shrugged. “Something new for everybody to talk about, like we were part of some cheesy reality TV series or something.”
Isobel paused long enough to draw in a shaky breath. Never in her life had she looked an adult in the face and delivered such a bold-faced string of lies. And yet, never in her life had the act of lying come so effortlessly. Still, she knew that if she wanted to convince him entirely, she couldn’t leave it at that. She had to be sure to eliminate all doubts.
“And ever since he ran off or whatever, everybody seems to think I know where he went,” she said, “but I don’t. Not any more than you do. At this point, I’m just kind of ready to forget about it and move on, you know?”
His gaze dropped from hers, and Isobel felt the tightness in her chest ease a little. A new and more ruthless wrenching came to replace it a moment later, however, as soon as she heard him utter the words, “I’m sorry.” Crestfallen, he stared down at the floor, his brow knotted. “I didn’t mean to seem presumptuous. I just thought that maybe . . . he might have confided something in you. The two of you seemed to . . . connect on some level. From what I’d witnessed during those weeks, I . . . I was under the impression the two of you had become friends.”
“It’s no big deal,” Isobel said. “I mean, I know you liked him a lot.”
Feeling the stinging threat of tears, she began to back away, retracing her steps to the exit. “And I do hope they find him soon. But . . . as far as knowing anything about what happened that night? I’m honestly the last person who would.”
Isobel turned.
Without another word, she opened the door and slipped out into the empty hall.
GRABBING HER PARKA FROM HER locker, Isobel took the sandwich and soda she’d packed that morning outside and into the vacant courtyard.
