Free Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse by Kaleb Nation Page A

Every muscle in his body froze at once. He took a glance out Rosie’s open door. No one was there.
    Very slowly, he reached for it. He felt it touch his fingertips and slid it closer to him, glancing down at it, not even daring to pick it up from the floor.
    The envelope had been opened and was empty. However, there was writing in the center of the envelope, but no address—a script, but definitely not Rosie’s. It was stronger, bolder, with thin swirls, and it read:
     
    To Rosie Tuttle
    From your Beloved B
     
    Bran took a deep breath. The handwriting was exactly the same as what had been on the card with the mysterious roses.
    So she does know who it is… he thought with disbelief. She’s getting letters from him!
    He looked toward the door. She was gone. He looked at the envelope one last time, then shoved it far under the bed and left as quickly as he could, hoping he could just forget about it altogether.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 7
    Sewey Wilomas Versus the Oncoming Train
     
    By the evening, sewey forgot all about searching for the gnome, though he did tell everyone what had happened on the road. As usual, he embellished the small details into bigger ones, and because of it no one believed anything he said.
    "So a black van chased you to work," Bran said doubtfully, "and then grew wings and flew off into the sunrise?"
    "Yes, that’s what I said!" Sewey insisted, and Bran didn’t bother to press the subject. Sewey’s description of the black van amused him though, and later, while cleaning Sewey’s office, Bran took a pencil to one of the notepads. Sewey had caught him and was not at all pleased to see the black van again, complete with wings and an evil grin. Mabel wasn’t thrilled either, because Bran had taken the liberty of adding a band of spores with gnashing teeth to the back seats, which frightened her so much she spent the rest of the day camped in the closet, moaning horrors.
    "You, sir," Sewey scolded, "are lucky to have been caught before you added red caps to those spore-shaped gnomes, or else you’d be hitchhiking to court to pay your indecency fine."
    It made Bran feel much better—as if now that he was laughing about it, the burglar wasn’t a threat anymore. His thoughts shifted to the envelope in Rosie’s room, and he puzzled over every Mr. B. in town, though none of them seemed to fit. In his boredom he sketched out a large letter B, adding sharp flames to its shape as if he could melt away all memory of the man who was writing to Rosie. He knew he would find the rest of the letters soon enough.
    Sunday morning rolled about, and the house was abuzz again as everyone rushed to get ready for the Bolton Road Weekly Picnic. They all had to go or else the neighbors would talk about them behind their backs, as if the Wilomases didn’t have enough gossip going around already.
    "Ohhh," Mabel was moaning. "The Pig-pollens must be high today."
    "But the weather’s beautiful!" Rosie replied, flipping pancakes. "Go take some nose spray."
    "Already did," Mabel sniffled. "A whole super-pack of Christine’s Antihistamines." She crossed her arms. "In fact, I took all my medicines, and I still feel the same as I did last night. As if they aren’t doing a bloody thing…"
    "Maybe the diseases are adapting," Bran said with a fake gasp.
    Mabel spun and went pale. "You’re right!" she whispered. "They are adapting! Help, help!" She clutched her throat. "The spores! The spores! They’re coming to get me!"
    At that moment, there was a knock at the front door.
    "There they are!" Mabel cried, running for the antihistamines. Rosie took the pancakes off the stove and dashed to answer the door, when who should come bounding along but Sewey to answer it himself.
    "I’ve got it," he said, practically tripping over his own legs as he came down the hall.
    "I’ll get it!" Rosie insisted.
    "I said that I’ve got it!" Sewey said, pushing her aside.
    "No, Sewey, don’t answer it!" Rosie shouted, pushing him