Free Clocks and Robbers by Dan Poblocki

came home that evening, his skin felt tingly. It didn’t help that when he opened the basement door, he found a light shining at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t remember leaving it on.
    A long shadow stretched across the floor. He grabbed at the banister. Steadying his voice, he called out, “Hello?”
    A rustling noise echoed up at him. “Just a moment!” came Hal-muh-ni’s frantic voice.
    “What are you doing down there?” Sylvester stepped on the top stair. It creaked.
    “Don’t come down!”
    “Why not?” Sylvester took another step.
    “I … I have a gift for you.” Hal-muh-ni appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a weird smile. She also wore a ratty old nightgown and bright red silk slippers. She held her hands behind her back.
    “A gift?” Sylvester said. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
    “Come,” said his grandmother. He edged down the stairs to meet her. She whipped her hands forward, holding out several crumpled twenty-dollar bills. Sylvester was speechless. “I was going to leave this under your pillow, but you caught me. So naughty.”
    Sylvester wasn’t sure if she was referring to him or to herself. “What’s it for?”
    “I feel bad that I stole your bedroom,” she said, forcing the money into his hands. “You can’t possibly be comfortable down here.”
    “It’s not that bad,” he admitted.
    Hal-muh-ni smiled. “You’re a good boy, Sylvester. But don’t tell your parents. I don’t want them mad at me for spoiling you.”
    “I won’t say a word,” Sylvester whispered, as his grandmother crept past him and up the stairs. “Thank you so much.”
    Later, Sylvester sat at his desk thinking of all the ways he could use his grandmother’s gift. Eighty dollars was a lot of money. On the paper-bag book cover of his social-studies textbook, he wrote a list of possible purchases. A Super Soaker water blaster for next summer. An upgrade to his Master Magician Magic Box. New headphones for his CD player—or better yet, an iPod.
    He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the soft crunching sound coming from the otherend of the basement, just outside the small window high up in the wall.
    But maybe it was for the best that he didn’t look up … or see the shadowy face peering in at him from behind the dirty glass. If he had, he may never have fallen asleep down in that basement again.
    From the corner booth of the Main Street Diner, customers had a view of the plaza in front of the Moon Hollow Library, where one of Mr. Clintock’s clocks stood.
    On Sunday night, Sylvester, Woodrow, Viola, and Rosie squeezed onto the curved seat and waited for Mr. Cho to bring them their order of french fries. The sun had been down for nearly an hour, and it had been the coldest day yet since fall had begun. Still, the Question Marks had stories to tell and this was as good a place as any—better, even, because of the free food. Viola was busy watching people stroll by the clock, stopping, staring, and pointing.
    “Something wrong?” Rosie asked.
    It took Viola several seconds to realize that Rosie was talking to her. She turned back toward her friends. “Sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about what happened with those clocks. I mean … they’re just clocks. You would think we’ve discovered the cure for some horribledisease instead of an old secret society that nobody even cared about a few weeks ago. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still really excited about it all. It’s just … things have gotten—”
    “Freaky?” Woodrow suggested.
    “Yeah,” said Rosie. “I ran into Principal Dzielski in the grocery store with my mom yesterday. Can you believe she asked if we’d thought any more about making a presentation?”
    “No way,” said Sylvester. “What did your mom say?”
    “Of course she thought it was a great idea.”
    Woodrow groaned.
    “This time, Ms. Dzielski presented it to me as a way to get our friends to learn about ‘community service.’