W.S.S.H.

My New Pen Pal

Greg grabbed the dictionary off of my small book shelf and stole the desk chair, sitting down and looking through it.
“Ask the book what the definition of metamorphosis is.” He decided, deciding that must be the best question to ask. I didn’t know how to spell it, but I wrote down his question and looked up for a split second. : a major change in the appearance or character of someone or something.
“Is that right?” I asked, holding up the answer for him to see. Greg compared the answers and nodded, looking spooked.
“That’s not right.” He decided.
“Yes it is!” I defended.
“Not like that, it’s correct, but it’s not right, books shouldn’t do that, I think we should put it back in the cave where no one can touch it. Maybe it’s best.” He decided.
“No way, this is brilliant!” I defended, holding the book to my chest where the answer was gone yet again.
“John it could be dangerous!” he defended.
“Oh be quiet. Since when did you not want danger!” I insisted.
“Since it is a magical book that might take over the world.” he pointed out. I just laughed, but he wasn’t getting this book even if he tried.
“You’re the one that wanted to go in those caves, so if you don’t want to use it that’s your fault.” I pointed out, and Greg just frowned.
“What if it’s alien, and it takes over everyone’s minds because it knows so much.” He decided.
“Then that would be pretty cool, but I don’t think it’s all powerful, just really smart.” I defended. Greg just rolled his eyes, leaning back on the chair and sighing with annoyance. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the book, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea to put it back and let it be. We might be able to create world peace, we could solve the unanswered questions of the entire universe, this was the best thing the world could ever know!
“Do you want to play basketball?” Greg sighed.
“Not really.” I shrugged, still holding the book to my chest in case he was going to come after it.
“Come on, it’ll take our minds off this stupid book.” He decided. I groaned, I didn’t want to take my mind off of it, but I guess he was right, I should probably go, just to clear my head. I buried it under my pillow, just in case Harry decided to come snooping around and thinks it’s my diary or something. The one place I knew it should never end up was in Harry’s hands. I followed Greg out the door, picking up the basketball from where I left it and throwing it to him.
“To thirty?” he asked, checking the ball to me.
“I guess so.” I agreed. And then we played, and I must say I did horribly. Whether it was the book on my mind or just that it wasn’t my best athletic day my performance was off a lot. The final score ended up being thirty to six, Greg winning by so much that it was actually quite embarrassing. I was expecting torment, but he just frowned, holding the ball in his hands and twirling it between his fingers.
“Come on John, it’s that book isn’t it?” he asked.
“No, I’m just tired.” I lied.
“You’ve got to get your head in the game, don’t make me sing the song.” He debated with a smile.
“I said I’m just tired, it’s been a long first day.” I sighed.
“Should I just leave you two together then?” he asked. I didn’t want him to leave, of course, but if he was just going to stick around and tell me that I had to dispose of the coolest thing I’ve ever seen then he was just kidding himself.
“If you want to I guess you can.” I shrugged, doubting that it would be that easy to get rid of him. But he threw the ball back at me with a little bit of angry force.
“Fine. Text me if anything exciting happens, and if it ends up that thing is evil then I guess I get to say I told you so.” he decided. Greg walked into the house and grabbed his backpack, then with one final wave he started walking down the road to his house, not bothering to say an actual verbal goodbye. The minute he was out of sight I ran inside, dropping the ball on the chair and racing to my room to where I hoped the book was still sitting. I shut and locked the door, pulling it out of under my pillow with relief and sitting at my desk. I took out a pencil and started testing the book in all the dictionary definitions I thought were difficult enough, but I guess it was a dictionary as well as a calculator because it didn’t miss a word. I decided to go for the answers that you wouldn’t find in a book then.
What is my name? I asked, feeling kind of foolish but curious.
You have yet to tell me. The book answered once I looked away. I swallowed nervously; it had referred to itself as a person. Was there actually someone in there?
My name is John Watson. I wrote nervously, remembering the internet safety videos we watched in school. Never give your full name to anyone you couldn’t see.
Very nice to meet you John Watson. The book said, and my heart seemed to skip a beat.
What is your name? I asked. There was a pause, but this time I saw my writing sinking into the paper instead of just vanishing when I was looking somewhere else.
My name is Sherlock Holmes. The book said. I took a deep breath, debating whether or not to tell Greg, but before I could take a picture or anything the writing sank back into the paper. Just to be sure I flipped around the pages, but once again they were all blank. I flipped to one of the middle pages, just to see if that page would work too.
What is the square root of 81? I asked. I waited for a reply, but as I sat back the pages of the book started turning back to the first page as if there was a wind in the room, but everything else was silent. I bolted out of the chair, far enough away that if it burst into flames or something that it wouldn’t hurt me, but close enough to see the answer in the same handwriting.
Nine, but can we please talk on this page? The book asked. I approached cautiously; worried that it might get mad at me or something. When nothing happened but the ink sinking into the page, I sat in the desk chair again.
Will you hurt me? I wrote nervously, not wanting to anger it but also not wanting to be tiptoeing around it.
Of course not. Even if I wanted to how would I? The book pointed out. I sighed, I guess it was right, how could it hurt me now? I breathed a sigh of relief, now I know I was safe.
How are you talking to me?
Ah, the one question I knew would come up. Alas, I cannot answer, too big a world for your tiny little brain.
Are you from the future?
No.
From the past?
You’ll find out eventually, if you want to, but first let’s focus on the getting to know you stuff.
I’ve been doing that all day.
So what’s a little more going to do? Did I really want to get to know this book person, whoever he was? What type of name was Sherlock Holmes anyway? But I was curious, and curiosity killed the John. I wanted to find out the answers I craved, and the book said it wouldn’t hurt me anyway, so what harm could it possibly do?
Well you already know my name.
How about family, any siblings?
My sister Harry, but I doubt you’d want to meet her.
No of course not, I’m only interested in you, since you were the one who was able to find this book.
Are you somewhere writing this back? Am I in a book as well?
That is a good question Mr. Watson, but once again the good questions must be left for another time.
Do you have any siblings?
Yes, one particularly fat brother.
What’s his name? 
Mycroft.
That’s a cool name.
I’ve never heard the name Harry for a girl?
Short for Harriet.
Ah, should’ve known. As I recall you’re not the only one who’s been writing in this book, there were two different hand writings, who’s the second?
Oh, that was my best friend, Greg, don’t mind him.
Is he here?
No, he left a while ago.
Was he angry?
I don’t know, maybe, he’s a big of a drama queen. This book didn’t seem too dangerous; in fact it was quite polite. I didn’t know why it cared about my boring life, but maybe it was some guy from the eighteen hundreds, sitting and writing to me in a journal he had found. Then again it knew the definitions for stuff I doubted they knew in the eighteen hundreds, maybe it was from 2800! That would be the coolest thing I’ve ever found.
Is he a nice person? The book asked.
Occasionally.
Don’t tell him about me; let him think this is just a book of answers. Can I trust you?
Of course, I won’t tell him.
Don’t tell anyone, I don’t want to be another Wonder of the World.
You’re my secret. I agreed, knowing that I wouldn’t tell anyone anyways. This was fantastic, my own secret pen pal.
As you are mine.
Can you see me?
No. I have no human senses; I can only talk to you.
Are you human, or from another planet?
Difficult question Mr. Watson.
Is there anything you can tell me about this book? I asked, sort of annoyed. Why can’t he tell me about how this worked, like I’d tell anyone.
I know where it was in the cave, but that’s all you can know. The important thing is that you found it.
I’m not all that important. I said, trying to sound all sad so that he might feel bad for me.
Of course you are important Mr. Watson, right now you’re the most important person in my life. I smiled to myself, of course I was the most important, at the moment he was the most important person in my life, but once I left someone else might be the most important.
Are there more books like this?
If there are, they’re not mine.
There’s an answer!
How old are you Mr. Watson?
Sixteen. How old are you?
I am nineteen.
You talk like you’re a lot older.
Manners, Mr. Watson, are a skill many people need to learn.
Manners are more for the boring adults here.
Was that an insult? I started to panic, it was mad, I made it mad, or god now what? Greg would be right when he found my hallowed out skull sitting on the desk next to Sherlock the living book.
No, of course not sir. I wrote quickly, knowing I sounded like a complete idiot but wanting life.
You are quite amusing Mr. Watson, I’m not upset with you, no need to be scared.
Sorry, just not quite used to this whole thing yet.
“John, Harry, dinner is ready!” My mom called from the kitchen. I groaned, I wasn’t hungry even though I had missed lunch, but apparently I had to come out and spend time with my miserable family.
I need to go, sorry, dinner is ready. Do you want anything? if, you know, you can eat. I wrote awkwardly, not knowing if this book could eat.
No thank you Mr. Watson, you are kind but I am still just a book to you.
Well not anymore. Talk to you later. I decided, closing the book and shoving it in my sock drawer for safe keeping. I took a deep breath, trying to look bored as I always did, unlocking the door and walking out to the dinner table.