Bookweirdest by Paul Glennon Read Free Book Online Page A

house.
    He couldn’t say that he was happy—he was too tired to be happy—but he was relieved. This book made him nervous. It was too much like the real world. It made him wonder if he would be able to tell the real world if he saw it again. When he thought of this, it made him feel a little sick to the stomach. His mother had warned him that the bookweird was dangerous. Maybe this is whatshe meant. Maybe it made you so crazy that you could never tell what was real and what was made up. Maybe that was Kit’s problem. There was certainly
something
wrong with him.
    Norman had sworn to give up the bookweird, and it was Kit who’d drawn him back in. Norman had had no choice, really. His uncle had bookweirded Malcolm into
Intrepid Amongst the Gypsies
and left him to be captured by the Kelmsworth Poacher. He’d known that Norman would follow him into the book. It was a game for Kit, and he didn’t seem to get that Norman didn’t want to play anymore. Norman needed to settle things with his uncle if he was ever going to be done with the bookweird for good.
    Maybe it was the worry that distracted him, or maybe it was because everything had looked so familiar today, but he didn’t recognize the fields and paths he followed towards the red-roofed house in the distance. When he saw the unmistakable black shape of the unicorn standing at the edge of the field, however, he realized where he was. It wasn’t just any ivy-covered, red-roofed house—it was
his
house, the Shrubberies.
    Raritan wasn’t in his usual spot in the back garden. Instead, he stood on a small rise at the end of the neighbouring field, staring out as if on lookout. He looked for all the world as if he was waiting for Norman to return, as if he’d expected him to come back empty-handed and defeated.
    Norman didn’t even meet the unicorn’s eye as he trudged past him towards the back gate. Raritan let out a little whinny as the boy passed him, almost like a human’s exasperated sigh, but Norman refused to acknowledge him. Nobody likes to hear “I told you so,” not even from a unicorn. Raritan turned and followed Norman up the path to the garden gate, as if he had been waiting for him.
    Norman took his frustrations out on the garden gate, slamming it open aggressively. Then he stood aside and held it open for Raritan to go through. He glared at the unicorn now, almost daring the creature to say something. Raritan, who had no need for gates, was already rearing to leap the fence when Norman turned to him. Heseemed to stop mid-leap and acknowledge the gesture with a twist of his horned forehead, before striding through the gate.
    Mollified a little by the unicorn’s polite gesture, Norman closed the gate a little more gently behind him. He really just wanted to go into the house. He was famished now and exhausted. He needed to lie down on the couch with whatever junk food Kit had stocked the pantry with.
    The unicorn stopped him with a little nicker, almost like a polite cough to catch his attention. Norman turned to stare at him. The frustration was clear on the boy’s face, but he said nothing.
    “Aren’t you going to ask me about your friend the talking stoat?”
    Norman lifted his hand from the doorknob and shook his head. He had been ready to call a truce with the unicorn, but he didn’t need to be teased like this. Raritan just stared back, however, his big brown eyes as inscrutable as ever.
    “Okay,” he said, exasperated, “let’s get this over with. Have you seen my friend Malcolm, king of the stoats? He’s about this high, and he doesn’t like to be made fun of either.”
    Raritan continued to stare. His eyes always seemed to be assessing the boy. Up close, his horn seemed to wave in judgment over Norman’s head.
    Norman closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. What was the point of this? He turned back to the door.
    “Rabbits,” Raritan murmured. His voice was low and secretive. It was almost like he didn’t really want to say