The Tiny Mansion

by Keir Graff

  Direct hit.

  We played water tag and Marco Polo and water basketball with a floating hoop Blake dragged into the pool. Meanwhile, the smell of smoke got stronger and stronger, until it seemed like the hot wind was fanning campfires from a Boy Scout Jamboree. If the Bertholds’ cook used that much wood to make flatbread, she was going to burn everything to a crisp.

  I had a bad feeling, so I climbed out of the pool and toweled off, then walked to the glass railing to see if I could spot anything different. The forest looked normal, but the blue sky had turned gray, and the sun was fading to a pale yellow dot.

  “Get out of the pool, Santi,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Just a minute, Dagmar,” he whined.

  That’s when I realized something else was wrong. Santi wasn’t moving. He crouched in the shallow end with a look of concentration that could only mean one thing: he was peeing in the pool.

  “Santi!” I snapped. “Get out now!”

  He just shook his head. Blake didn’t realize what was happening, but if I couldn’t stop the gnome, at least I could rescue our host.

  “Blake, come here quick,” I said. “Hurry.”

  He climbed out of the pool just as Santi’s look of concentration turned to one of relief. Honestly, you can’t take a five-year-old anywhere.

  Once we all got dried off, we went through the doors into the main house, where it was so cold I instantly got goose bumps. Reynold, Anjali, Vladimir, and a woman wearing a chef’s uniform were all standing in the living room, staring at a screen so large and thin it seemed like a hologram. It was solid, though, because Reynold changed the view by swiping and pinching and rotating his fingers while Alpha and Beta lay on the floor at his feet.

  It took me a minute to realize we were looking at an aerial view of the surrounding area. The landscape looked wrinkled, like a piece of paper that had been crumpled and uncrumpled a bunch of times. Some of it was green, but most of it was brown, and in the upper corner, smoke was puffing away like it was coming out of a volcano.

  “What’s going on?” asked Santi.

  “Wildfire,” said Reynold.

  He sounded calm, but my skin prickled with a cold feeling that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.

  “Should we evacuate?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, Dagmar,” said Anjali. “Reynold says it’s still two ridges over, and the authorities haven’t issued any warnings yet.”

  “But the wind could blow it toward us,” I said.

  Reynold tapped the screen and brought up a weather report that had so much information it was probably what the TV weather ladies studied before they dumbed it down for the rest of us. He squinted at the numbers and arrows and graphs, and then said, “It keeps shifting. Still too soon to know either way.”

  I saw the cook and Vladimir look at each other like there was something they wanted to add, but they weren’t going to do it.

  I went over to the cook and introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Dagmar. Thanks for the, um”—I wasn’t going to say whale boogers—“treats.”

  “I’m Summery,” she said. “And I know it’s an adjective. My parents liked the name Summer, but they wanted to be different.”

  “I can relate,” I told her. “My name means day maiden in Old Norse.”

  “Wait a minute!” interrupted Blake, and we all looked at him. “Does this mean we’re not getting flatbread?”

  Anjali looked anxious. “Summery told me she was planning to make lobster BLTs and a cold melon soup. How does that sound, Blake?”

  “After I heard you say we might be having flatbread, I really started wanting that,” said Blake, pouting.

  “What do you think, Summery?” asked Anjali.

  “Boy, are you spoiled,” I told Blake. “What’s wrong with a sandwich?”

  Something else was bothering me. I went up and stood next to Reynold at the screen. After a minute, I picked out the Bertholds’ enormous house, but I still couldn’t locate the compound and Helen Wheels.

  “Where are my parents on this?” I asked. “Are they in danger?”

  Reynold seemed to know more about us than we knew about him—right away he pointed to the place, and I could see the small clearing, Helen Wheels, and Trent’s wall, which looked a heck of a lot smaller from miles in the air.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” said Reynold. “They’re the farthest away of any of us.”

  “Who’s closest?” asked Blake, suddenly interested.

  “Your aunt Penelope,” said his dad.

  And that’s when the power went out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Stupid Mansion

  Without power, the house that had seemed so magically alive felt like a tomb. The cracker-thin screen we’d all been staring at became a dull black mirror. Every one of the carefully hidden lights went out, and the ice-cold air stopped flowing out of the vents. In an instant, the room became stuffy and quiet, with only dim green daylight filtering in through the tinted windows.

  “I want to go home!” said Santi, sounding scared enough to wet his pants if he hadn’t already peed in the pool.

  “The fire must have destroyed a transformer,” said Reynold matter-of-factly. “The power grid has always been a little bit unstable out here in the country. We’ll just wait for the backup generators to come on, and then we’ll research our options.”

  He acted like they would come on at any moment, so we all just stood there waiting—everybody except Blake, who flopped onto a couch with a loud sigh.

  But the generators didn’t come on. One minute passed, then five, before Reynold said, “Something’s wrong.”

  No duh, I thought.

  “I will check generators,” said Vladimir, heading quickly out of the room with the dogs loping along behind him.

  Anjali and Summery had their phones out, trying to see if they could get a connection, but it was no use. There was no cell service here, either, and without Wi-Fi, the phones weren’t any more use than paperweights.

  “Reynold, do something,” said Anjali in a shaky voice. “Do something now.”

  “Wait for the power,” he said sharply.

  “But we don’t know how fast the fire is moving,” she said.

  “You said Penelope was closest to the fire,” I reminded him. “Shouldn’t we go get her?”

  “I don’t think it’s come to that yet,” said Reynold, starting to pace back and forth.

  Blake sat up. “Dagmar’s right. Aunt Penelope could be in danger.”

  “Just wait until the power comes back up, and we’ll contact her if necessary,” said Reynold.

  “How far away is she?” I asked.

  “About twenty minutes if you’re walking,” said Blake.

  “We can run it in ten,” I said.

  “Blake! Wait here like your father says,” ordered his mom, but to be honest, she didn’t sound very convincing.

  Blake was off the couch and ready to go. I couldn’t tell if he was concerned about Penelope or excited to disobey his parents, but either way, he wasn’t going to let them stop him.

  “We’ll be back soon,” he said.

  “And you’re bringing Penelope here?” asked Reynold. “I haven’t given my permission for that.”

  “It’s a rescue, not a social visit, so forget about your family’s feud for now,” I said.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” he fumed. “Your own flesh and blood aren’t plotting against you!”

  I just ignored him. What was with these people?

  I told Santi to wait with the Bertholds because I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up. Then Blake and I ran to the front door, ready to sprint through the forest and warn Penelope.

  There was only one problem: the door wouldn’t open. It was sealed tight as a bank vault and just as impossible t
o budge. There wasn’t even a handle to pull on—all I could do was smack it with my palms in frustration.

  “It’s an electronic lock with a power assist,” explained Blake. “It won’t work with the power out.”

  Vladimir must have been having problems with the backup generator, because we still hadn’t seen even a flicker of electricity.

  “What about the other doors?” I asked.

  “They all work the same way.”

  “Can we crawl out a window?”

  “They don’t open. The whole house is climate controlled.”

  I wondered if it was possible to suffocate in a sealed house without air-conditioning.

  “Smart house, my butt,” I said. “This place is STUPID.”

  “Hey!” said Blake defensively.

  Then I remembered a way out. “The pool deck! We can go out the sliding doors and then over the railing.”

  “It’s a long way down,” Blake said, sounding doubtful.

  “It’s either that or stay here and let your aunt fend for herself.”

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  When we ran through the living room again, his parents were arguing and Santi was crying, but we didn’t even slow down. We ran straight through to the pool area and, after a quick stop in the changing rooms to put on our regular clothes, headed out to the railing.

  It was about fifteen feet down to the ground, but I figured if we hung over the railing and then dropped, it was really only ten feet. The hard part was going to be landing on my sore ankle, so I made sure my left foot touched first, then bent both my knees and rolled when I landed. It almost knocked the wind out of me, but I was fine, and Blake did okay, too.

  We stood up and brushed ourselves off. The smoke smell was even stronger now, and I wondered if we were about to make a big mistake. Then again, until the power came on, we couldn’t get back into the house, so really there was only one way to go: forward.

  “Let’s move!” I told Blake, and we started running.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  THE HOT WIND blew in our faces, and the smoke made it hard to breathe without coughing, but we made it there in less than ten minutes. As we reached Penelope’s house, the wind chimes were going crazy, and the crystals were bobbing on their lines without any sunlight to reflect. Instead of whale songs, I heard a distant roar that sounded like a passing freight train.

  “Aunt Penelope!” called Blake as he yanked open the front door.

  There was no answer from inside the house, but the brown-and-white dog with the missing ear came around the corner and whined anxiously. His flat face was scarred like he’d been in a lot of fights, but instead of looking scary, he just looked scared.

  “Where is she, Russell?” Blake asked.

  Maybe he actually expected the dog to answer or point and bark like a dog in a movie, but Russell just whimpered and whapped his tail on the floor. I stepped forward to scratch his head, and he licked my hand like I’d used meat juice for hand lotion.

  In the living room, the cat, the squirrel, and the coatimundi all seemed agitated, and a gray parrot I hadn’t noticed before was flapping its wings and squawking. We raced through the house calling Penelope’s name, but there was no answer.

  I slipped through the kitchen door into the garage, where, instead of a car, there was a large, smooth white thing that looked like a space sarcophagus on the floor. Curious what was inside, I lifted the heavy lid.

  And screamed.

  Penelope was lying on her back with her eyes closed, still as death.

  Before I could decide if she was a New Age vampire or what, she opened her eyes and, instead of screaming back at me, smiled beatifically.

  BEATIFIC: having a blissful appearance.

  It was while she removed her wireless earbuds that I realized she was wearing a swimsuit and floating in water that smelled like salt and rose petals.

  “Hello, Dagmar,” she said. “I was meditating in my isolation tank. I’m afraid I lost track of time—I find the sound of crashing waves very soothing.”

  “Sorry to ruin your relaxation, but you need to get out right away,” I told her.

  “Do we have plans?” she asked, confused.

  Blake crashed into the garage behind me, looking happy and terrified. “Fire, Aunt Penelope! Fire, fire, FIRE!”

  “Oh dear,” said his aunt, standing up in the tank. With water dripping off her, she looked strong and majestic, like a statue or a sea creature. “Can someone please hand me a towel?”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  SHE MET US in the living room after she had dried off and gotten dressed.

  “How much time do we have?” she asked.

  “Not much,” I said. “The fire is moving fast.”

  “Come to my house,” said Blake.

  She frowned. “I don’t want to be anywhere I’m not welcome.”

  “It’s not up to you, and it’s not up to Reynold,” I said. “Blake and I decided.”

  Blake nodded in agreement.

  “You realize it’s not just me,” said Penelope, opening her arms to include the menagerie crowding around us.

  “Trust me, we know,” I said.

  Apparently she didn’t believe in collars or leashes, so it took us precious minutes to find rope for Russell the dog and Carl the coatimundi. I was worried they would panic and run away, so I wanted to make sure they stayed close to us. Yma the bird was shoulder trained, and Farrell the squirrel was happy enough to climb into Penelope’s shirt pocket, but that still left Totoro, the cat.

  I remembered that, when Santi was a baby, Leya used to make a carrier for him out of a big scarf because we couldn’t afford a BabyBjörn. She just folded it in half, tucked him in, and knotted it behind her neck. Grabbing a large piece of fabric off the back of a couch, I showed Penelope what I was thinking, and she coaxed the cat into place and helped me put the whole thing together. The next thing I knew, I had a hot, purring ball of fur snuggled against my chest.

  “I guess he likes it,” I said.

  “Can we go already?” asked Blake, looking out the window at the billows of smoke rolling across the yard.

  With Penelope carrying Yma and Farrell and leading Carl, and Blake holding Russell’s leash—and me with Totoro in the sling—we left the house.

  The smoke was getting so heavy that, even though it was still early afternoon, it seemed like dusk was falling. We still couldn’t see a single spark or flame, but over the moaning of the wind, we could hear an eerie crackling sound. A plane flew high overhead, completely invisible.

  “I hope your house is going to be okay,” I said, panting as we made our way forward. “Maybe the wind will change direction and firefighters will stop the fire.”

  “I hope so, too,” said Penelope. “Everything I own is in that house.”

  Yma gave a loud squawk and pecked her on the head. It must have hurt, but Penelope just smiled.

  I turned around to take one last look at the house.

  Then I squawked, too.

  Behind the cottage was a towering orange wall that reached to the treetops and gave off a light like a setting sun. Penelope’s house looked small and completely doomed.

  She and Blake turned around, too.

  “Fortunately, everything I need is between my ears,” said Penelope grimly.

  “Not for long if we don’t run,” said Blake, holding tight to the leash as Russell took the lead.

  With the fire bearing down on us, none of us needed any more encouragement.

  We ran.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rescued?

  Sometimes in a dream, I run as fast as I can but hardly move. If I’m being chased through a forest by monsters, for example, it’s like I’m running in place while they zoom up behind me.


  This wasn’t like that at all. I ran as fast as I’d ever run in my life, and for once I didn’t slip, stumble, or fall. Fear of being burned to a crisp is a powerful motivator.

  By the time we reached Blake’s house, we could see fire on three sides of us—it was spreading and picking up speed.

  Blake put his thumb on a flat black panel next to the doorbell.

  “I hope it opens, because I don’t know how we’ll all get up the side of the pool deck,” he said, coughing.

  The door started to open—and then stopped. We squeezed through the foot-wide opening one by one and heard Reynold cursing loudly. I guess he wasn’t always as calm as he looked.

  As we went into the living room, the power came back on again, and the whole house went haywire: the windows changed tints, screens went up and down, and every single light in the house came on to a cacophony of beeps and boops and other alerts.

  “What’s going on?” asked Penelope.

  Her brother Reynold glared at her but addressed the rest of us as though she wasn’t even in the room. “There’s a problem with the generator. Vladimir can’t keep it going, and every time it comes back on, the whole house reboots!”

  Russell was barking at a hologram of a flickering fire in the fireplace, Farrell was chattering at a robotic vacuum cleaner, and Yma was squawking loudly as a small drone circled the room for some reason.

  “Did you have to bring these ridiculous animals?” thundered Reynold.

  “Still waiting for a heart transplant, I see,” said Penelope. “If you kick them out, you’ll have to kick me out, too.”

  Reynold threw up his hands in disgust just as Alpha and Beta raced around the corner on clicking toenails, drawn by the sound of Russell’s barking. Carl slunk between my legs, tangling me in his leash and nearly making me flatten a still-purring Totoro.