"D'ya really believe him, Lee? What he's talkin' about, stuff like that just doesn't happen."

Stanley rifled through his locker, shoving aside dirty gymwear and stinking lunchbags. One or two textbooks with bite marks all over the covers tumbled to the ground. "Sure it don't. I ain't arguing that. But I also ain't arguing Fiddle was scared outta his mind last night. Last time there was a problem he jus' looked guilty."

"Whatever's goin' on, there's not a lot we can do." Stanford pulled up closer to his brother, lowering his voice. "We're only ten, Lee. We gotta go tell the police, or his parents. They'll know what ta do."

Ford snorted. "Oh, yeah, good thinking, Poindexter. What good did it do him last time when he really was markin' up his arms? Vanished for a month. Came back so shaky he could barely talk. We just busted him outta that shell, I ain't losin' him back inside it now. We don't got many friends around here, we look after the ones we have."

"How are we supposed to figure out what's goin' on if he doesn't even know?"

"That's your job. You and your smarts get us everywhere. Ah! Gotcha." He withdrew a blocky camera triumphantly. "I knew I had it stashed away somewhere safe."

"Define safe," Ford held his nose as a rotten banana splattered to the ground.

Lee shut his locker and hurried down the empty hall. No self-respecting kid would be caught dead indoors during lunch, Summer School or no. Well, none but them. "C'mon, Fiddle said he'd meet us behind the dumpsters. Let's get ol' Kodachrome back in action!"

Both of them headed into the boy's bathroom, dragging the trash can over to the window and clambering through. They slipped down, one at a time, on top of the dumpster in the alley behind the school, then climbed down the side to the ground.

Three makeshift seats stood in a tight little circle. They'd dragged old cinderblocks back and stood them on their ends to make a meeting area. Fiddleford was already sitting on one, staring unenthusiastically at the waffle sandwich on his lap. He was dressed in an ugly orange turtleneck that was probably visible from space.

"Hey diddle-diddle!" Lee greeted.

"The cat and the fiddle!" Ford added.

"The cow jumped over the moon." Fiddleford completed the password with a sigh, holding his sandwich out to Ford. "Not hungry today."

"I'm starved!" Lee shoved the camera at Ford and grabbed the sandwich, ripping into it. "Oh man, your mom makes the best."

Ford rolled his eyes, lifting his camera. "Okay, so we brought the camera. It's got a few photos left on the roll. You ready?"

Fiddleford looked down, shivering. "I dunno, guys. You sure nobody else is gonna see this? What about the film guy?"

"Leave that to me." Lee wiped his mouth, the sandwich already gone. "All I gotta do is tell 'im we drew all over Fiddleford when he was sleepin'. Nuttin' to it. C'mon now, we gotta have pics to look at so Poindexter can figure what's goin' on."

Reluctantly, Fiddleford grabbed the bottom of his sweater and pulled it off over his head.

"Whoah!" Ford gawped. "Lookit that…"

The marks went far beyond Fiddleford's arms, tracing all the way up to his shoulders and across his chest and stomach. He turned around slowly, revealing the continuation all over his back and shoulderblades.

"And this started last week?" Ford asked as Lee took the camera, raising it.

"Yeah. Got bigger after every nightmare. Last night's the first time it didn't get bigger. Maybe it's done growin'."

"Don' worry, Fiddle. Whatever it is, my brother's got the smarts to tell us. I bet you we get the mystery solved by lunch tomorrow."

"Lee, don't go promisin' that. We don't know." Ford grabbed Fiddle's hand, studying his arm. "Didja put anythin' on 'em?"

"Too scared someone's gonna walk in on me in the bathroom at home." Fiddle licked his lips nervously. "Doesn't hurt so bad if I don't think 'bout it. Or bump anything."

"No good, Fiddleford. Hey Knucklehead, snap the rest of the roll. I'mma raid the nurse's station."

"Careful, Poindexter," Lee teased. "You're gonna turn into me an' ruin that clean record if you're not careful."

"Aw shaddup." Ford latched onto the side of the dumpster and climbed back up, heading for the bathroom window.

Lee rolled his eyes, taking one more shot of Fiddle's chest before checking the roll. "That's all of 'em. Don't worry, Fiddle. Ford's practically a doctor already. He's better at puttin' bandaids on than Mom. He'll fix ya right up."

"Great." Fiddle swallowed. "Can I put my sweater back on now?"

"Sure. Knock yerself out. Seriously, how come ya don't sweat?"

"I dunno." Fiddle pulled his sweater back on. "Not that hot, I guess."

It was Lee's turn to gawp. "Not that hot? I'm swimmin' in a sweat puddle every time I try ta sleep an' you think it's not that hot?"

Fiddleford dropped his head, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. "I dunno what's goin' on, okay? I know I'm s'posed ta be drippin'. I'm just not. All kinds'a weird stuff's goin' on, it's not my fault."

"What kinda other weird stuff?" Lee pulled up a cinderblock.

"The nightmares, never had 'em before. Can't remember most of 'em, but I wake up thinkin' brick walls are really scary."

Lee guffawed. "Brick walls? What kinda scary dream is about brick walls?"

"Maybe it's not about brick walls. Maybe it's somethin' that looks like it, I dunno. I can't remember." Fiddleford kneaded his jeans.

"We talkin' 'bout his dreams?" Ford hopped down from the top of the dumpster, landing with an oomph. "You woke up yellin' something about eyes. Does that help?"

"Did the nurse see ya?" Lee asked, grabbing the bag Ford had tied to his belt loop.

"Nah, she's too busy readin' some Fabio book an' sighing. Gimme that." He grabbed it back, turning to Fiddleford. "Shirt off!"

Fiddle pulled off his sweater again as Ford laid out a couple tubes. "Wasn't sure what you get for real bad burns, but it says it's s'posed ta help with sunburns. Hold still. So, what about eyes?"

Grimacing, Fiddle braced himself as Ford applied the cream. "I dunno, eyes don't bother me."

"You said they see all, or somethin' like that."

"Nah, he said the Eye sees all, like one," Lee corrected.

Fiddle's back stiffened, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I… eye… one eye… yeah, that's scary too."

"So you're having dreams about a brick wall with one eye? Sounds real lame. That and these etch-a-sketch marks are all we got to figure out what's goin' on?" Lee sighed, idly clicking the camera's button. "Not a lot, Fiddle."

"But you gotta help! I can't keep all covered up all'a time, someone's gonna find out, an' they'll send me back to the loony bin!"

"Not gonna happen." Lee hooked the camera strap around his neck. "I just said it's not a lot. Don't worry. We'll figure somethin' outta this mess. But first thing's first, gotta get the photos. Come over to our room t'morrow, we'll see what we got."

...

Note: At the moment, estimating updates will probably happen about once a month on this fic.