![]() ![]() Rickman yawned, showing his still-sharp teeth. Almost a minute passed and nothing happened. Next a thicker spike of ink rose up, straining, reaching over the edge of the sketchbook, one second, two, before it collapsed back. ![]() A thin tendril of ink lifted from the page, maybe half an inch or so, like a tiny arm desperate to escape quicksand. Rickman’s ears flattened against his skull. It thickened along the edge, as though it was trying to pour itself over-but it couldn’t. Then it was on the move again, flowing down the crease until it reached the bottom of the page. The ink rippled, like dark water with something swimming beneath the surface. He put his paws on the edge of the drafting table and leaned forward for a better view. Normally, Rickman took no interest in the arts, but this was different. For a moment it was motionless, as if resting. When they all met in the center of the book, they formed a big black splotch, about the size of a fist. The lines of ink joined other lines, melding into weird shapes, sometimes smooth, sometimes pointy, getting larger. As the ink moved, it left no smear behind it, just blank page. From every corner of the sketchbook, the ink beaded and started slithering across the pages toward the crease in the middle. The black ink looked suddenly wet, like the pictures had been drawn that very second. When it happened, it made no noise, but Rickman saw the whole thing. Some pictures had scribbles through them, some were very sketchy, and others looked like they were ready to make an appearance in one of Mr. Animals and buildings and people jostled on the pages. It took two tries because he was heftier than he should have been. In front of the drafting table was a chair he liked, and Rickman heaved himself up. ![]() At the end of the hallway, he slipped into Mr. Against the wall he found a dead fly, a chocolate chip, and a small piece of red crayon, which he also ate. He was taking one of his midnight prowls, padding past the bedrooms of sleeping people, hoping to find something interesting to eat. No one was awake to see it happen, except Rickman. This book is everything, and I loved every page." - Rebecca Stead, Newbery Medalist for When You Reach Me
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