Bookweirdest by Paul Glennon Read Free Book Online

inEngland and the Shrubberies. How else could he explain why the countryside was so empty and all the roads went nowhere? Uncle Kit wasn’t a magician. He couldn’t actually distort the earth, or at least Norman hoped he couldn’t.
    It was almost better, he decided. If this was all just another book, Kit’s meddling might not be so bad. It might mean that back in the real world, Norman’s mom and dad were going about their business as usual, and there was no unicorn in their backyard. But in another way, it was worse. If this place was a book, then Kit had more control over it. He couldn’t get rid of all the paper in the world, but he might be able to banish all the paper from a book.
    The nature of Kit’s bookweird powers was still a bit of a mystery. His uncle seemed jealous of Norman’s ability to get into a book just by eating his way in. Kit’s own ingress required props and memorization, but his uncle had been at this much longer and seemed to understand it better. Norman had thought he’d reached some sort of agreement with him back at Kelmsworth—that Kit had learned his lesson about messing with other people’s books and other people’s lives—but it seemed now that he didn’t know any other way to live.
    When the third road ended in yet another empty field, Norman stood and watched the grass for a long time before retracing his steps down the road. It was hot again by English standards and the coins in his pockets felt heavier all the time. He stopped by the wayside and relocated the money from his pockets to his knapsack, but that only reminded him that he’d eaten all his food. It would be time soon to think about giving up for the day. He hadn’t planned to be away anywhere near this long. If he didn’t find a house soon, he would have to return to the Shrubberies and try again another day.
    It was a relief when he came upon the train tracks. It was not that he expected a train to come along. Not a single car or truck had passed him all day, so why would trains be any different? No, by now Norman was certain that this was not the real world but some sort of strange, empty book without people in cars or on trains.It was probably a poem or something. That might be Kit’s worst trick yet, to trap him in a poem. Nothing ever happens in poems.
    The tracks at least told him that he was on a different road, since he hadn’t crossed any tracks that morning. They also gave him an idea. He hadn’t been able to see much earlier because of the walls and hedgerows that lined the winding roads, but there were no walls alongside the tracks. The rails ran along a high embankment that would provide a perfect lookout. With renewed enthusiasm, Norman hoisted his knapsack and set off down the tracks.
    To begin with, it wasn’t much different than being on the road—more empty fields and bits of forest—but as the tracks gradually climbed, he began to get a better view of the surrounding countryside. He came to the stop on top of a stone railway bridge and scanned the view. The hills did indeed stretch out as far as he could see. There was nothing like a village in sight. If there was a Summerside in this book, he was nowhere near it. Just one square of red stood out among the green of the hills and the yellow of the hayfields. Just one tile roof, glinting a little in the summer sunlight. The house below it was covered in ivy. From any other angle, it would have blended in with the woods. It was just one house, but it was all Norman needed—just one house with one piece of paper and he could get out of this.
    There was no point taking the road. That was his mistake all along. Kit had figured that Norman would make a break for it and had twisted the roads around like a maze. But Norman wasn’t going to let Kit determine his route any longer. From his vantage point on the embankment, he could see a narrow path along the edge of the hills. He leapt down from the embankment and set off along the path towards the