about?â
âWhat I wonder is how that lady knew your name. Maybe sheâs a stalker or something.â
âJohnny!â
âIâm serious. There are crazy people out there these days.â
âJohnny, sheâs not a stalker.â
âIâm just saying.â
Autumn shot him a stare and he knew better than to press further. âAll right, sheâs not a stalker. Here, give it to me.â
âNo, you donât want to read.â Autumn pulled the book from Johnny and turned back toward the barn. She opened the cover and flipped the first sheet to a page with a beautiful ink drawing of a thick forest. The scene captivated her immediately, so much that she stopped walking. The leaves of the trees were amazingly detailed, almost as if she could see them moving in the breeze. Birds sat on tree limbs, and insects fluttered about. A brook meandered around rocks and a fawn stood alert in the distance. And there, peering around a tree, was a strange faceâ
âGive me that!â Johnny yanked the book away.
âHey! Give it back!â
But Johnny was too quick and too strong and folded the book against his chest. Autumn beat on his back relentlessly as Johnny passed her and jogged toward the barn.
âAll right, all right! Enough!â Johnny raised his hand to stop the assault. âIâm not giving it back unless we can both read it.â
Seeing as how she couldnât get the book back by any other means, Autumn said, âOkay, weâll both read it.â
âI canât believe weâre fighting over some stupid book. Donât tell my friends.â
The two stepped through the barn doors and climbed the ladder to the loft, brushing away newly formed cobwebs that clung to their faces. Amidst the ruins of stale hay, they found a place to sit and laid an old piece of canvas in front of them. Afternoon light poured in through the wide cracks of the planks behind them, and a small spider slowly descended from a thread affixed to a beam up above. The siblings placed the book in front of them. Then Autumn opened to the drawing once more.
âWhereâd he go?â Autumn burst out.
âWhat? Whereâd who go?â
âThere was a face.â Autumn pointed to a tree in the drawing. âIt was right there! I saw it.â
âA face?â Johnny examined the tree.
âJohnny, there was a face right there. I promise. Just before you pulled the book away.â
âThereâs a deer and some birds. Autumn, youâre totally imagining stuff.â
âIâm not! Iâm serious! There was a face of a . . . of a . . .â
âSee, youâre crazy.â
âJohnny!â She punched his arm. âYou have to believe me! It was like an elf or something.â
âAn elf? One of Santaâs?â
âItâs not funny.â Autumn turned and folded her arms, hot tears welling up in her eyes. He never trusted her.
âAw, look, Autumn. Iâm sorry. I didnât mean it.â He grabbed her shoulder. âCâmon, letâs turn the page.â
She didnât budge.
âAutumn . . .â
She lifted her chin up further.
âIâm sorry,â Johnny breathed out. âThere, happy?â
âMean it,â she said.
âIâm really, really sorry. I shouldnât have said the Santa thing.â
âAnd?â
âWhat else do you want?â Johnny threw his hands up.
âFor not believing me, Johnny?â
âAll right! Iâm sorry for not believing you.â
âReally sorry?â
âYes, really, really sorry. Autumn, can we please read the stupid book now?â
She turned to face him. âItâs not stupid.â
âAutumn,â he pleaded, completely exasperated with her.
She looked down at the drawing. âFine.â She reached for the book and flipped the page.
In the center of the next aged sheet of paper was the title,
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