The House on Hoarder Hill
Page 4
Hedy shook her head. “I saw the letters being written in dust right then when I was looking at it. By nothing.”
“By nothing?”
“Like an invisible finger was …” Hedy pantomimed writing with her own finger.
Jelly took the photo frame and studied it, her nose almost touching the glass. “Then what?”
“That was it. I got freaked out, so I ran back to bed. But this morning, the letters on the fridge said ‘find me’ too. And I don’t think it was Grandpa John who arranged them that way, even though he said it was.”
Jelly shivered and put the frame down.
“That’s not the only bizarre thing that’s happened,” Hedy went on softly as she and Jelly plopped down on the bearskin rug. “When Spencer and I were in here earlier in the night, there was a lump moving in the floor. About this big.” She made a fist. “Like a little mole tunneling just under the surface, but once it passes, the floor looks normal and flat again, like it never happened.” Hedy hugged her arms around herself tightly. “But what if I imagined it? It was dark. Maybe I was just seeing things. Maybe it’s just some trick Grandpa is pulling to be funny.”
Jelly raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think your grandpa knows how to be funny.”
“Yes, he does!” Hedy protested.
Jelly just shook her head. “Anything else?”
“Before Spence and I saw that thing moving in the floor, a book fell off the shelf. By itself. I think.”
Jelly started counting on her fingers animatedly. “Bermuda Triangle. Message on the fridge. Message on the photo. Thing in the floor. Book jumping from the shelf. That’s five.”
“Five what?” The two girls jumped in surprise. In the doorway stood Spencer. “What are you counting?”
“What are you doing sneaking up like that?” Hedy demanded.
“Grandpa wanted to know if you want ham or cheese or both on your sandwiches. What are you doing in here?” he asked suspiciously. “What were you counting?”
Jelly shrugged and looked at Hedy as if to say, He’s your brother. What do we tell him? Hedy waved him in impatiently.
“Is that the photo?” Spencer asked, pointing to the frame. Hedy nodded, and he picked it up carefully. “Is that Mom?” he asked, pointing to the baby in the picture.
Hedy nodded again.
“But look, Spencer!” Jelly exclaimed. “Look at the dust. It says, ‘find me.’ ”
“I know that,” he said, indignant. “Hedy already told me. Why didn’t you show me first?” he asked his sister angrily.
“I didn’t have a chance earlier.”
Spencer scowled. “Who do you think it is?” When Hedy shrugged, he said, “Should we call Mom and Dad? To come back?”
“Why?” Jelly asked, astonished. “I wish I could stay here. It would be so fun.”
“Spencer’s scared,” Hedy said.
“No, I’m not!”
Jelly glanced sympathetically at Spencer. “It’s okay. You’re only little. Max is still scared of the dark.”
“I’m eight!” Spencer drew himself up as tall as he could be and glared at both of them. “We should ask it who it is.”
“Go on, then,” urged Jelly.
His fear trumped by irritation, Spencer picked up the frame and stared at it fiercely. “Who are you?”
The children sat holding their breath. Moments passed. Muffled noises from the kitchen were the only thing they could hear. Come on, thought Hedy, although a part of her shrank inwardly, wondering if she really wanted to know.
And then, slowly, a circle was drawn in the dust of the photo, around the face of Rose.
The children were stunned. Spencer gulped, and Jelly clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak.
“I don’t believe it. It’s Grandma Rose,” breathed Hedy. “Grandma Rose wants us to find her.”
What are you doing in here?”
The three children had been so riveted that they hadn’t heard Grandpa John come up the stairs. He was standing in the doorway, and his face looked thunderous. Spencer dropped the photograph frame with a clatter.
“I told you not to touch things in this house!” Grandpa strode into the room, swiftly picked up the frame from the rug, and placed it back on the small side table after only the briefest glance.
“The door was open …” Hedy began in a small voice.
“Open doors are no invitation to break the rules that I set,” Grandpa replied heatedly. He took a deep breath. “Out. All of you.”
Jelly prodded Hedy in the back and pointed to the photograph frame. Should they tell Grandpa what had just happened?
“Grandpa,” Hedy tried again. “I think Grand—”
But Grandpa John cut her off. He was calm now, but his face was very stern. “For better or worse, you’re my responsibility for the next two weeks. That means understanding that I need to keep you safe. I shouldn’t have to explain every last thing for you to do as I say. If you will not abide by my rules, then you may not stay in this house. I will call your parents right now if I need to.”
Hedy and Spencer shared a brief look and shook their heads. They filed out of the room, and Grandpa closed the door firmly behind them.
Hedy and Spencer were quiet throughout lunch, stinging from the telling-off. Luckily, Uncle Peter kept up a patter of cheerful stories that eventually lifted the mood. Grandpa John, seeming to want to make peace, did a series of card tricks for Spencer and patted Hedy gently on the shoulder when she led the other children in clearing the table.
Their mood did not escape Uncle Peter, though. When Grandpa John was out of the room, he asked, “Everything all right?”
They nodded.
“You know, you can come stay at my house with your cousins anytime.”
Hedy pondered the offer as they walked Uncle Peter and the cousins to their car. She had a feeling that staying with Uncle Peter would be more fun, but what would that mean for the message in the dust?
Before Jelly got into the car, she took a purple marker from her bag and wrote a telephone number on the back of Hedy’s hand. “You have to tell me everything,” she said. “You’re going to help her, right?”
“I don’t know how I can help her, when Grandpa John is so strict about us not touching his things. I don’t want to get in trouble with him again. Or with my parents.” Hedy considered the house, which somehow seemed more watchful than before.
“If Uncle John knew you were helping your grandma, he wouldn’t be such a dictator,” Jelly sniffed. Then her eyes widened, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Oh em gee—unless he doesn’t want you to find her!”
Hedy’s stomach suddenly felt heavy and tight. Could that be true?
Jelly gave Hedy a lung-crushing hug. “Call me, promise?”
As Uncle Peter’s car sped away with Jelly waving a hand and Max waving his bogey jar out of the window, Hedy felt as though the sun had gone behind a cloud. She didn’t usually make friends very quickly, being so much more serious than most other kids at school. But she and her bubbly cousin had just connected, even though they were very different. Hedy missed her already.
“Your grandmother would’ve liked visits like today,” Grandpa John said unexpectedly. “People and chatter. She got on well with almost everyone.” He looked as though the sun had disappeared behind clouds for him as well.
It was around half past nine that night when Hedy and Spencer crept into the room with the green door. The afternoon and evening had seemed deathly dull without their cousins and with Grandpa shutting himself in his study. During those dragging hours, Hedy had decided they couldn’t wait around for something to happen, and she’d convinced Spencer to stay awake after they’d gone to bed so they could sneak in there.
With trembling hands, Hedy picked up the photograph again. “Grandma,” she said, “tell us what to do.”
A long moment of nothing. And then a strange voice came from up above them.
“It is I, your grandmother. Walk t
o the middle of the room, children.”
Hedy was glad that Spencer had grabbed hold of her hand. They shuffled to the middle of the room, standing on the bearskin rug.
“Move two steps to the left,” said the voice. The children did so. “And now to the right.” The children shuffled back again. What was happening?
A rumbling laugh erupted below their feet. They spun and looked down. There on the floor was the head of the bearskin rug, chuckling.
“Oh, that feels good! Stamp on that itch!” the bear laughed. It sounded like rocks rolling around in a drum.
“You owe me for that, Doug,” said the first, higher voice, chortling too. The children looked up now. The stag’s head on the wall was looking pleased with himself.
Spencer and Hedy scurried off the rug.
“Oh, come, now!” said Doug, the bear rug. “Just a little more stamping where my right shoulder used to be? It’s so itchy.”
“They’re talking!” Spencer whispered.
“I know,” said Hedy, not believing her ears. “But it’s impossible.”
Doug angled his head up to the stag. “Stan, they said it’s impossible.”
“I heard,” Stan replied.
“I guess that means you-know-what.”
Doug and Stan suddenly froze, looking like utterly normal, silent house decorations again. Hedy and Spencer stood as still as statues too. Hedy was ready to creep toward the door when Doug and Stan dissolved into snorts of laughter again.
“I … cannot …” Stan could barely get the words out. “Oh, Doug, you should see their faces.”
Stan mimicked the petrified faces of the children as closely as a deer could, with eyes wide open and jaw dropped down in shock. Doug slapped a bear paw on the wooden floor in glee.
“Stop laughing at us,” Hedy said, beginning to get angry. “Grandpa will hear. Who are you?”
Doug managed to get control of himself. “Who are we? We were here well before you two, young miss. I think it would be proper for you to tell us who you are first. Come round in front, where Stan and I can both get a look at you.”
With Spencer clutching Hedy’s elbow, the children gingerly walked to where Doug could see them, being careful not to step on him.
“I’m Hedy.” Hedy nudged her brother.
“I’m Spencer,” he managed to croak.
Stan whistled, and Doug drummed his claws on the floor. “Young cubs of Olivia,” murmured the bear—Hedy couldn’t help but think of Doug as a bear now, instead of just a rug.
“Do you know her?” Spencer asked, relaxing at the mention of their mother.
“Knew your mom from the time she was born, I did. I’m Doug, one-time bear and now a luxury floor covering.” Then he hiked a claw in Stan’s direction. “That’s Stan, last night’s venison.”
Stan sniffed, looking offended. “I am Stanley, Lord of the Queen’s Wood—”
“You weren’t lord of anything!”
“Well, they weren’t to know that! Look at my antlers; fourteen points on them! Lordly, they are.” He waggled his head.
Doug sighed. “Mount a stag on a wall, and all the pomp goes to his head …’cause there’s nowhere else for it to go!” He thumped a paw on the floor again, chuckling. Hedy got the feeling Doug had been waiting for an audience for his jokes for some time.
“Does Grandpa know you can talk?” she asked.
Stan’s head wobbled to and fro, and Doug’s laughter petered out.
“He does and he doesn’t,” Stan said.
“Oh, he does, definitely,” Doug argued.
“Well, he used to.”
“Do you think he’s forgotten, you daft deer? Of course he does. That’s why we’re his.”
Spencer had lost his fear now and settled himself cross-legged in front of Doug. He reached out one finger to stroke the brown fur. “What do you mean?”
“Your grandfather collects magical items,” Doug replied.
“For his magic shows?”
“I was never used in a magic show. Haven’t left this house since I got here.” The bear head tilted upward. “How about you, Stan?”
“Sadly no,” sighed Stan. “I would have been a great stage presence, however. What a missed opportunity.”
“What a blessing for the magic-going public, more like it.” Doug snorted. “John doesn’t talk to us. Not anymore.”
“Why not?” Hedy asked.
There was a long pause while the two furry faces weighed up an answer.
“He thinks it’s … improper,” Stan tried.
“He’s closed off to us,” Doug said more bluntly.
Hedy climbed up on a chair to get a better look at Stan. His fur was mostly pale brown, with white patches on the underside of his neck, along the top of his nose, and around very lively eyes. “Why can you talk?”
“Was it Grandpa doing magic?” Spencer guessed.
Stan thought intently, his grand antlers drifting from side to side, like bare tree branches swaying in the wind. “Magic was involved, but it wasn’t your grandfather. It was before his time. I don’t know why we were made to talk, in fact.”
“For the pleasure of our company,” Doug offered.
“I pity the fool who created you for company, you shabby grump,” Stan scoffed.
“Grandpa John seems kind of lonely,” said Spencer. “He should talk to you for company. I would if I were him!”
Doug gave a sorry smile. “Well, we’re not the sort to go against the Master’s wishes, generally speaking. So we don’t talk to him. If he piped up first, that would be another thing. Speaking of Master’s wishes, why are you two cubs in here? Doesn’t he have strict rules about not touching things?”
Hedy and Spencer shifted guiltily.
“Mind you,” Doug went on, “I wouldn’t mind a good scratch right in the middle of my back, if you’d oblige. Come on, sit on me. I can take it.”
Settling themselves on Doug’s back, the children scratched the pelt, finding the fur long and coarse. Doug sighed happily, his nose twitching.
Spencer looked at Hedy with hopeful eyes. She could see her brother trusted these two talking, bodiless creatures, and something about their crotchety humor put her at ease too. Perhaps they could help.
“We think Grandma’s ghost is trying to talk to us,” she said.
Stan whistled through his teeth. Doug twisted his head to look at the children in surprise.
“Your grandmother?” said the bear. “So that’s what you were whispering about with the other girl earlier. What did she say?”
“She said to find her. She wrote ‘find me’ in the dust on this photo frame.” Hedy held the frame out for first Doug and then Stan to have a look. “And on the fridge, in magnets. And when we asked who it was, she circled her face right there in this picture!”
“How do you know it’s her,” Stan asked, “and not some spirit simply pretending to be her?”
Hedy frowned. “Why would someone pretend?”
“Not everything you meet has good or straightforward intentions,” Stan replied.
“And some things,” Doug added, “are downright dangerous. That’s why your grandfather’s collected them. To keep them out of the wrong hands, influencing the wrong people.”
“Dangerous?” repeated Spencer softly. His skin had gone pale, making his freckles stand out sharply.
Hedy mulled that over. That must be why Grandpa John had been so angry when he caught them in the room. “How can we tell if it’s really Grandma Rose or not?” she asked.
The bear and the stag shared a look.
“Stan, I’m sending you a psychic message right now,” said the bear. “Are you getting it?”
“But, Douglas, the Master wouldn’t like it. No one’s supposed to know about the unusual things in this house, even if they are his grandchildren.”
“Says the stag’s head that played a joke on them and showed them we can talk!” exclaimed Doug.
Stan gave an embarrassed cough.
Stan’s searching stare was difficult to return, but Hedy did it, knowing he had to take her seriously. Finally, he blinked and said, “If we help you, and if it’s not your grandmother, the snooping ends here. Is that agreed?”
Hedy raised an eyebrow at Spencer, and he nodded. “Deal,” she said.
Doug blew out hard through his nostrils. “All right. No more tonight, though. It’ll have to be when your grandfather is out or asleep.”
“Why?” asked Spencer.
Doug’s claws clacked on the floor. “Because you’re going to have to sneak us out of this room.”
In the morning, the children plodded down the stairs yawning and rubbing their eyes. Spencer’s hair looked like he had been through a tornado, and Hedy felt as if her mind was a twisting muddle too.
“How are we going to get Grandpa out of the house?” Spencer murmured.
“We’ll think of something.”
They found Grandpa in the living room, adding a log to the fire crackling in the fireplace. “Goodness, you two look tired. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“My dreams were too exciting,” said Hedy. It was sort of true. In the light of morning, a talking bear rug and stag head mounted on the wall seemed all too dreamlike.
“Me too,” said Spencer, holding his hands out to the fire. His stomach growled. “Can we have breakfast here? Please?”
Grandpa John peeked out the window at the fresh white snow dusting the ground and neighboring roofs. “Well, seeing as it snowed last night, why not?”
Not long after, the children sat cross-legged by the fire, cradling bowls of warm porridge dotted with fat currants and topped with small chunks of melting butter.
“Grandpa,” Hedy began, “the lady at the shop—”
“Mrs. Sutton,” Spencer offered helpfully.
“Yes, Mrs. Sutton. She said you need to see her today to order the Christmas pudding. And the tree.”
Grandpa John looked startled. “Christmas tree?”