W

e finished editing Exacting Clam 16 around ten that night, and all the editors and the selections in the issue decided to go out for a celebratory drink. A few selections had cars—“Contract With the Dead: Adventures in Chinese Horror” and “Fresh Asphalt & a Robust Spliff”—and so did Molt Ariti, the journal’s new Manager of Signs. We agreed to drive out to Perec’s, where they’ve got free popcorn and constrained beer. I usually don’t lock up the book, but I had the issue keys that night because Cordelia, the Night Editor, was sick with the whats. I handed the keys off to my colleague Sigh because he was more familiar with the shut-down process. I guess Sigh wasn’t feeling well either, though—the whats are super-contagious—so he gave the keys to the story “Preposterous Spleen.” Unsure of what to do with them, Spleen gave them to “The 1971 Skydog Calculus Poem.” Skydog hung the keys on the hook on the inside cover—thinking, I guess, that Nobody Trellis, our new Negative Capabilitist, would grab them on the way out. But Skydog didn’t tell Nobody that—we all just tumbled out of the issue and into the freezing cold. It was only right as the cover was closing that Skydog shouted to Nobody, “You got the keys, right?” Then the cover closed and locked behind us.

“Wait—what?” said Nobody.

“Issue keys!” hollered Skydog.

“Oh shit,” said “Catherine Persian Rug.” They ran to the cover and tried pulling on it, but it was locked.

“Doesn’t Bowcher have them?” said “Many People Were Scandalized, Some Still Are.”

I gave ‘em to Sigh,” I said.

I had them, but I put them on the hook,” said Skydog. “Isn’t that where they go?”

“What’s the deal?” sang “On Not Reading Thomas Hardy” from beside Asphalt’s Kia. “We goin’?”

“We’re locked out!” bellowed Rug.

Asphalt’s face went sour. “We’re what?”

“Oh so now no Perec’s?” whined Thomas Hardy.

“Never mind Perec’s—where do we sleep tonight?” said “Ode to Pie.”

“Please let the back cover be unlocked,” Nobody said under their breath.

Scandalized ran around to the back of the issue, but I knew without checking that it’d be locked—we’d been good about security since some content thefts a few issues back. Spleen and Nobody tried to pry open the front cover while I called Sigh at home to see if he had a spare key. “Far as I know there’s only one key for that issue,” Sigh told me. Then he launched into a coughing fit. When it passed he said, “Spleen doesn’t have it?”

“Spleen gave it to Skydog, Skydog put it on the hook.”

“Shee-it,” said Sigh. “You know we go to press in the morning, right?” Cough.

“I realize,” I said.

“I think your best bet is to call An—,” cough, “—Open Book.”

“What’s that?”

“Booksmith,” said Sigh. “We’ve used them before.”

I looked up the number for An Open Book and dialed. “Open Book after hours line,” said a gruff voice.

I told him the situation. “And this is for Exacting Clam?” Gruff said.

“Issue Sixteen,” I said.

“Those covers are tricky,” Gruff gruffed. “Issue three I broke the lock altogether.” When I didn’t say anything, he said, “How’s tomorrow at three?”

Panic washed over me. “Don’t you work twenty-four seven?”

“I do, guy, but I got five jobs ahead of you.”

“We go to press first thing in the morning,” I said.

“I sincerely doubt it,” Gruff said.

I thanked him and told him I’d see him tomorrow. When I turned around, I saw the poem Skydog balancing on the story Spleen’s shoulders near the book’s spine. “What are you doing?” I shouted.

“Skydog’s gonna—” grunted Spleen, their face purple, “—try and climb it.”

I shook my head and pulled up my collar—it was getting cold. Then Molt came over and told me that a few selections, Pie and “I Thought We Were Friends,” had given up on getting back into the issue and booked hotel rooms at the local Super 8. “I’m thinking I might do the same,” he said.

Just then we heard a holler from the other side of the book. Molt and I trotted around the issue to find Nobody, Thomas Hardy and Rug huddled at the far right side. “We got an idea,” said Nobody.

I looked at the corner of the cover where they were huddled. “The ISBN?” I said.

“If we can bend it,” said Hardy.

“Bend the bars?” I said. “You can’t.”

“Some of them are pretty thin,” Rug said.

“Like these two,” Nobody said, pointing. “If we can bend them I can wriggle in.”

“You can’t print the issue with a broken code,” I said.

“You can’t print it without any content either,” Hardy shot back.

“It’s so cold,” said Molt. “I can’t feel my toes.”

By then everyone who’d been around front, Spleen and Contract and Asphalt and Skydog, had joined us at the back of the book. I heard Rug explaining their idea to Asphalt, and Asphalt say, “The ISBN? That’s crazy.”

“We can at least try, can’t we?” said Thomas Hardy.

“Let me get in there,” Skydog said.

Thomas Hardy took hold of one bar and Skydog the other. When they pulled in opposite directions on the bars, though, neither bar budged. “Goddamn!” burred Skydog. “Spleeny, help.”

Spleen stepped forward and grabbed the right bar while Rug took hold of the left. “Let’s do this,” said Hardy. “One. Two. Three. Go!” All four pulled, and this time the bars bent slightly. “They’re moving!” I said dumbly.

“Not much they aren’t,” grunted Skydog.

“Put your back into it, Hardy,” Rug said.

As the space between the ISBN bars widened further, Nobody dropped to the ground. “I can almost squeeze through!” they shouted.

“One more time,” muttered Rug.

Skydog planted his feet on the edge of the code, leaned his head back, and let out a guttural “Gah!” as he pulled on the right bar.

“That’s it— that’s good!” Nobody said. Then they shimmied forward until their head and shoulders fit through the bent ISBN.

“Careful Nobe!” said Thomas Hardy.

Soon Nobody had wriggled through up to their waist, and then they disappeared into the code altogether. We all shouted our encouragement— “You got this, Nobody!”, “Just go nice and slow!”—and then we got quiet and just stared at the warped ISBN. After a minute Skydog looked to Rug and said, “Now what?”

Molt leaned his forehead against the back cover. “You OK, Nobe?”

We all listened for a response.

“Nobody?” Molt hollered.

Suddenly we heard the sound of unlocking, and everyone stepped away from the back cover just in time for it to swing open. Nobody stood grinning at the end of the issue. We all yelped and hooted as we ran into the book and across the bright, warm pages.