The OSMU van sat parked outside a determinedly quaint family restaurant in Ohio. Inside the restaurant the four agents and Odd Squad librarian Octavius were seated in a corner booth looking over their menus.

Opal looked around in quiet shock. "What's this place called again?"

Oswald checked the listing on Google. "Um, The Nutcracker."

She stared at the dozens of novelty nutcrackers arranged on the window-sills and shuddered. "Makes sense..."

"I wonder if this place has a souvenir shop," Omar pondered. "It looks like it'd have a souvenir shop..."

"It does not have a souvenir shop," Orla replied. "It does, however, have candy and novelty items up front. Perhaps one of those would suffice."

"Perhaps," Omar nodded.

Opal studied the menu. "Has everyone decided what they want yet?"

Octavius squinted at the text. "I don't see a vegetarian option..."

Opal sighed. "It's small town Ohio. Just get a salad, okay?"

Orla scowled. "I am most disappointed. The computer said this eatery offered 'old fashioned' cuisine. Yet I have read through this entire menu twice and there is no mention of roast cat."

Octavius choked on his water. "Roast... cat?"

Oswald leaned close to his friend. "We don't let her cook any more..."

Omar nudged Oswald. "Hey, looka this. 'All You Can Eat Spaghetti!'" He smiled. "This place is gonna go bankrupt!"

Oswald returned the smile. "You're on!"

Opal and Octavius both rolled their eyes.

#

After they ordered and received their food, Opal turned to the curly haired librarian picking at his salad. "So, what's this book we're supposed to pick up again?"

"It's in German but the name translates roughly to The Book of Ashes." Octavius took a bite of lettuce, dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then continued. "It would seem to be the 1930 Lillian von Griensehurst translation."

Omar squinted. "Lillian von...?"

"Griensehurst. She was an occultist, scholar, chanteuse, world traveler, cabaret star and film actress in Weimar Berlin." Octavius fished some notes, neatly written on index cards, from his pocket. "Quite an interesting life, really. She fled to Paris when the Nazis took power in Germany, then joined the Nazi Party when France fell as well. In 1943, she managed to escape to America, where she eventually married a Pentecostal preacher and moved to Etna, Ohio." He put his notes away and resumed his salad. "For years, it was thought all copies of The Book of Ashes had been destroyed. This one was apparently discovered in an old suitcase." He chewed on another bit of salad. "I saw it when I was browsing the site looking for old typewriters."

"You were looking for old typewriters?" Orla devoured her beef and noodles. "Why?"

Another bite, another dab. "I collect them."

"I reiterate... Why?"

"Never mind," Oswald intervened, his face smeared with pasta sauce. "You were telling us about this book. What was it doing on a typewriter site?"

Sighing, Octavius dipped his napkin in his water and wiped off his friend's face. "They sell a wide assortment of items, donations and the like." He speared a radish with his fork. "I'm quite certain they don't understand what they have. It's not in English and it's really quite obscure except in certain esoteric circles." Another bite, another dab. "It's quite fortunate I saw it when I did. It's rumored to be cursed. If it should fall into the wrong hands..."

A waitress hurried over. "Um, you guys are like the Odd Squad, right? Like on the show?"

Orla nodded. "We are the Mobile Unit."

"It's part of Odd Squad," Opal added. "We're an elite team of agents..."

The waitress interrupted. "Yeah, I figured that when I saw you get out of the van and there wasn't a grown-up driving..." The waitress looked at them nervously. "Anyway, I know you're probably not on duty or anything but, um..."

She indicated the private dining room across the way, where it was raining ping-pong balls.

"Could... Could you maybe...?"

Oswald produced a gadget from behind his back and slid out of the booth. "I got this. Back in a sec."

He followed the waitress over to the oddness.

Octavius watched him go, smiling.

"He is doing well, isn't he? This is working out for him?"

"Oh yeah," Omar smiled. "He's doing great!"

"Why?" Opal asked. "Has he said anything?"

"No, no," Octavius assured her. "Not at all. But while he is indeed a brilliant library-museum person, he's dreamed of being a field agent as long as I've known him. Several times he's expressed the desire to transfer but he's always gotten nervous at the last minute and opted to stay put." He smiled as he watched Oswald zap the private dining room with the un-ping-ponginator gadget. "I'm so glad he finally managed it and that it's all going well for him."

"Indeed," Orla nodded. "He becomes frightened at times but he is far braver than he realizes."

They all hushed as Oswald headed back to the table.

"Well, that's taken care of. We ready to pay the check and get going?"

#

Now the van was parked on a back-street in a clinging precariously to lower middle class neighborhood. Opal saw a furry creature the size of a cat running through the tall grass near the abandoned used car lot across the street and squealed.

"What was that?"

Orla shrugged. "That is a hedgehog." They watched it disappear into its burrow under someone's house.

Oswald rang the bell again. "Why isn't anyone answering the door?"

"Come on, guys!" Omar grinned. "I hear someone coming. Everything's gonna be..."

The door opened. A sour looking, sour smelling, very fat old man with disheveled black and white hair peered out and glared at them.

"Oh, hello!" Octavius smiled pleasantly. "I called earlier about the book...?"

The old man stared at them dully. "I'll get someone."

Oswald edged over nervously. "Can't you get it for us?"

"I'm not allowed. And I'm not sure where it is. I'll get one of the managers." The old man let them in, then shambled off. "Besides, you don't like my self-inserts."

"Okay, fine. But we're kinda... Wait, WHAT?"

#

Presently a manager was summoned, the transaction was made, and the team was on its way again. They were gathered in the cockpit sitting in their regular seats, with Octavius in the spare seat in back.

"Okay, we've got the book..." Opal began.

"And probably about a million germs," Oswald scrubbed his hands with sanitizer. "Don't they ever dust in there?"

"So, what next?" Omar asked.

"Yes," Orla chimed in. "What are we to do with the accursed tome? Throw it into a nearby volcano?"

Oswald sighed. "It's Ohio. They don't have volcanos."

"They've got burial mounds, though!" Omar was consulting his tourist guide. "In fact, we're right near the Great Serpent Mound! Hey guys, let's..."

"No time," Octavius butted in. "We've got to get The Book of Ashes into the Odd Squad Cursed Book Vault as quickly as possible."

Oswald blanched. "As quickly as possible?"

"Yes," Octavius nodded. "Before anything escapes."

Meanwhile, the book had been left on the table in the meeting room. Unseen by the agents, it fell open, the pages rustling until they reached a black and white illustration.

And inside the drawing, deep in the cross-hatched shadows, something peered out and hissed...

#