The Box and the Dragonfly by Ted Sanders EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Ted Sanders
- Language: English
- Genre: Children’s Paranormal, Occult & Supernatural Books
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
The Sign
WHEN HORACE F. ANDREWS SPOTTED THE HORACE F. Andrews sign through
the cloudy windows of the 77 eastbound bus, he blinked. Just a blink,
nothing more. He was surprised to see his own name on a sign, of course—
and his sizable curiosity was definitely roused—but still, he took the
sighting in stride. He had always been a firm believer in coincidences.
Given enough time, and enough stuff, it was only natural that the universe
would churn out some odd happenings. In fact, the way Horace saw it, a
universe in which strange coincidences did not occur would be a pretty
suspicious place.
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The Horace F. Andrews sign was tall and narrow, hanging from the side
of a building back in an alleyway off Wexler Street. It featured a long
column of faded yellow words on a weather-worn blue background, but it
was his name, written large at the bottom, that jumped out at him first, clear
and unmistakable:
HORACE F.
ANDREWS
The bus rolled on. Just before the sign slipped out of sight, he caught a
few of the yellow words in the long list above his name: ARTIFACTS.
MISERIES. MYSTERIES.
Sparks of curiosity flared up inside Horace. He blinked—just once—
and thought the situation through, tending those sparks like a brand-new
fire. What were the odds of his seeing a sign with his exact name on it? Not
terrible, he decided. Horace wasn’t a very common name, but Andrews
definitely was. And it was probably fairly common to have F as a middle
initial—certainly better than one chance in twenty-six.
Of course, it was pure chance that he was even here in the first place.
The 77 was his usual bus home from school, but this was not its usual route;
normally the bus went straight down Belmont Avenue, but construction had
forced the bus to detour down Wexler Street instead of driving right by. It
was also pure chance that Horace had been looking out the windows at all.
Ordinarily, he would have been sitting in the very back row, reading or
working on a science problem for Mr. Ludwig’s class, building a bubble of
concentration against the noise and confusion of the bus. But today the bus
was extra crowded, packed with rowdy kids from school in the back and
stone-faced adults in the front. Horace had to stand in the middle, at the top
of the steps near the rear door, feeling large and awkward and hating his
heavy backpack, and wondering just how much he, Horace Andrews,
belonged here. All he could do was look out the window and hope the ride
would be short.
But then the sign slid by, and a block or two later the bus slowed and
jerked to a stop. The rear door opened, and a plump old lady in a purple
dress began easing down the steps, clinging to the rail with both hands.
Horace looked through the back windows, but the sign was out of sight.
Was it for a store? Or maybe someone’s office—presumably the office of
Horace F. Andrews. The sign had looked very old; maybe the place didn’t
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