by J. A. White
Mr. Derleth’s eyes sparked to life as he passed along the things he had learned. His posture bespoke a deep and abiding sadness, but the man clearly enjoyed teaching.
“First Shadow examined the house’s blueprints and filled notebook after notebook with meticulous figures. Then he made lists of what materials were used and where, the number of panes in each window, the height of the chimney, which side faced the sun in the morning, the slope of the roof . . . you get the point. Shadow did this with every house he deemed legitimately haunted. And over many years, he came to believe that certain hauntings had nothing to do with restless spirits, but rather the way the house had been built.”
Cordelia felt a tingling in her scalp, like finally recognizing a landmark after being totally lost for hours. Yes, she thought. This is it! This is what I need to know!
“According to Elijah Shadow,” Mr. Derleth said, “there was a certain confluence of architectural elements—the precise right building materials constructed in the precise right way—that created a sort of trap for ghosts. It only happened by pure accident once in a blue moon. Those are your traditional haunted houses. But Shadow believed that if he studied these houses and tracked the similarities between them, he could use this knowledge to build a haunted house on purpose. He called this process archimancy.”
“That’s how he built Shadow School, isn’t it?” Cordelia asked. “He wanted it to be haunted!” The idea, and all its implications, stampeded through her brain. That’s why there are so many ghosts! The building itself is designed to keep them here!
“Correct,” Mr. Derleth said, giving her a curious look as though surprised by how quickly she had made the connection. “And not just any haunted house, mind you. Shadow believed he could use archimancy to amplify a building’s ‘ghost-trapping’ qualities. In short, he wanted Shadow School to be the most haunted house in the world.” The teacher folded his hands together and regarded her carefully. “I’ve answered your question, Cordelia. Now it’s my turn. You don’t seem particularly shocked by any of this. Surprised—yes. But not shocked. So I have to ask: Have you seen any ghosts?”
Mr. Derleth had caught her off guard with his question, and Cordelia hesitated before answering.
“No,” she said. “Of course not. I mean, ghosts aren’t real.”
“Are you sure?” Mr. Derleth asked. “You can trust me if you’ve seen something unusual, Cordelia. Maybe we can help each other.”
Cordelia considered telling him the truth. He knows so much about the school, she thought. He might be able to help us. It wasn’t a decision she could make without talking to Agnes and Benji first, however, and while she liked Mr. Derleth, there was something about him she didn’t trust. He seemed far too anxious to find out what she knew.
“The scariest thing I’ve seen at Shadow School is the geometry test I took last week,” Cordelia said. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Elijah Shadow was clearly bonkers.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Derleth said. “Except—there is one thing. I wouldn’t necessarily call it proof, but . . . by the end of his haunted house tour, Shadow didn’t have a penny to his name.” He raised his arm to encompass all of Shadow School. “Which raises the question: How did he manage to build such a lavish and expensive home? I didn’t learn much from the financial records of the Shadow family, which are conveniently missing entire years. It took me a long time to find the answer.”
He reached into the side drawer of his desk and produced a manila folder overflowing with papers.
“Arend Meulenbelt was a young man from a prominent Dutch family,” Mr. Derleth said, riffling through the papers in the folder. “While visiting America for the first time, he heard whispers of a secret show held by a Mr. Elijah Shadow, with a ridiculously high admission price that only the upper class could afford. Supposedly, the American would display several ghosts that he had captured, with a clever catch: only the truly gifted would be able to see them. Well, of course everyone claimed they could see the ghosts whether they really could or not—they’d obviously never read ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ But Arend swore that he really did see spirits. He even drew them.”
Mr. Derleth pulled out a yellowed piece of paper that had been torn apart at one time and pieced back together again. It was a sketch drawn with pencils and a hint of charcoal: a row of boxes with circular viewing windows and pale faces trapped behind the glass. There was a date at the bottom—1912—and a scribbled signature.
This must have been how Elijah started, Cordelia thought. Trapping ghosts in boxes before he learned how to trap them in an entire house.
“He’s a good artist,” Cordelia said, trying to keep her face as impassive as possible. “With a great imagination.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. Derleth said.
He searched her eyes for a moment, and then slid the sketch back into the folder.
“Thanks for telling me all this,” Cordelia said, rising to leave. “It was really interesting.”
“Thanks for listening, Cordelia,” Mr. Derleth said, turning his attention back to his stamp collection. The bags beneath his eyes seemed more swollen than usual. Cordelia remembered her mom mentioning that for some people, the holiday season could be the saddest time of the year.
“Have a good break, Mr. Derleth,” Cordelia said.
“You too. And thanks again for the chocolate.”
He placed another stamp in the album. His hand trembled.
13
Notes
The hallways were quiet as the school settled down for a long winter’s nap. Cordelia, who could now navigate its labyrinthine corridors as well as anyone, hustled toward her locker. She had a good ten minutes before the bus came, but she was excited to get to her phone and let Agnes and Benji know what she had learned.
Inside the slots of her locker door was a yellow sticky note. She unfolded it and read:
New one in boiler room. Check it out before you leave.
—B
Benji had never left her a note before, so Cordelia was curious what was so special about this particular ghost. I can take a quick peek and still make the bus, she thought, grabbing her backpack. She ran downstairs and made it to the boiler room in record time. After waiting for a group of girls singing Christmas carols to pass, Cordelia opened the door and descended a short flight of steps to a pitted concrete floor stained with oil. The only light came from a work lamp in the corner. Metal shelves sagged beneath cardboard boxes and rusty machinery, while an ancient furnace hissed its complaints.
Cordelia squinted her eyes, looking for the ghost. She couldn’t see anything in the immediate vicinity, but on the other side of the room lay a patch of darkness beyond the limited scope of the work lamp. Maybe there? she thought.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Cordelia scaled the steps in two giant leaps and tried to turn the knob. It was locked. “Hey!” she exclaimed, slamming her fists against the solid metallic surface. “Let me out!” She caught a flash of movement beneath the door and bent down to take a look. Someone was standing there, just a few inches away.
“Hello?” Cordelia asked quietly. She was a little scared now. Why aren’t they opening the door? “Is someone there?”
A single piece of paper slid through the gap and fluttered down the steps. Cordelia picked it up and brought it over to the work light. It was a Post-it note just like the one she had found in her locker. Three words had been written with a black Sharpie:
STOP HELPING THEM
The shadow beneath the door vanished. Cordelia screamed some more, hoping that someone else might hear her. No one came.
Benji didn’t write that note, she thought. It was the person who locked me in here. This was a trap. Someone knows what we’re doing and wants us to stop it. Cordelia couldn’t imagine the kind of person who would lock a child in a boiler room. Is it someone I know? A teacher? And how did they know that we’ve been helping ghosts?
Cordelia would worry about that later—af
ter she got out of there.
“My phone!” she remembered, giddy with relief. She would just call the main office, and if that didn’t work, she’d call her parents. Cordelia slung off her bookbag and reached inside the pocket where she normally kept her phone. It wasn’t there. She checked the other pockets, then finally emptied the contents of her bag onto the floor.
No phone.
The same person who locked me in here must have stolen my phone, she thought. This didn’t narrow down the possibilities as far as their identity went; Cordelia’s lock had been issued by the school, and any employee had access to the combination. It did, however, send the first trickles of true fear down her spine. If they took my phone, they really thought this through. They don’t want me getting out of here at all.
Cordelia took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to remain calm. She carefully examined the room, struggling to figure out her next step. Maybe there’s another door. Or a duct I can crawl through. She waved the work light from place to place.
A small figure watched her from beneath a workbench.
Cordelia screamed in surprise. After the initial shock, however, she quickly recognized the familiar blue eyes and glasses, the pajamas lined with trains.
“Hey,” Cordelia said, giving the boy a bright smile.
He stepped into the light, hands folded shyly together. Cordelia realized that her horrified reaction had probably frightened him a lot more than he frightened her. He wore the downtrodden expression of a child about to get scolded.
“I’m sorry I screamed,” Cordelia said in a gentle voice. “You surprised me. That’s all. I’m really glad to see you.”
The boy breathed a sigh of relief.
“How did you get out of the gym?” Cordelia asked. “I thought you were trapped there.”
The boy pointed at Cordelia.
“Me?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Cordelia said. “I had nothing to do with it.”
The boy shook his head and pointed at her again.
“Okay,” Cordelia said. “One thing at a time. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.” She pointed to the top of the stairs. “I need to get through that door. Can you help?”
The boy broke into a huge grin and gave her a little bow: At your service. Cordelia noticed that he was missing a tooth. She suspected that it would be missing forever. The idea filled her with sorrow.
He seems so alive, she thought.
The boy ran up the stairs—his footsteps making no sound—and passed through the red door as though it wasn’t there at all. A few moments later, he poked his head back into the room and waved her forward: Come on! What are you waiting for?
“I’m not a ghost,” Cordelia said. “I can’t walk through solid doors.”
The boy smacked his head—Duh!
“No worries,” Cordelia said. “Any other ideas?”
The boy held up his index finger: I’ll be right back.
“I’ll be here,” Cordelia said with a wry grin.
The boy was gone longer this time. Cordelia paced the floor. She wished the boy could simply open the door, but of course that was impossible. The only thing ghosts could physically touch were their Brightkeys. A black thought hatched, further fueling her panic: It’s the day before holiday break. Once everyone goes home, this building is going to be empty for a long, long time. If Cordelia had been thinking rationally, she would have realized that her parents would demand a search of Shadow School when she didn’t come home on the bus. But Cordelia wasn’t thinking rationally. Right now, all she could focus on was what it would be like to try to survive ten days without food or water in this dark, subterranean room.
A few minutes later, just as Cordelia was beginning to wonder if shutting off the furnace might make someone come investigate, the boy leaped out of the wall to her right. Cordelia’s heart did a triple somersault in her chest.
“You have to knock or something before you do that,” she said.
The boy ignored her and pointed to the wall, his face glowing with excitement. He had never looked more alive.
“Seriously?” Cordelia asked. “This is your way out?” She knew the boy meant well, but she was scared out of her wits and running out of patience. “I can’t pass through a wall any easier than I can pass through a door.”
The boy shook his head and jabbed his finger forward. Cordelia realized that he wasn’t pointing at the entire wall but a specific cinder block. Curious, she ran her hand over the spot. It felt different. Smoother. Cordelia dug her nail inside a long scratch and heard something snap, like the clasp of a battery case.
A lid fell open.
The cinder block was hollow. It contained a flashlight and a wooden lever that protruded from the interior of the wall.
“Hmm,” Cordelia said, taking the flashlight. “Guess there’s only one thing you can do with a lever.”
She pulled it.
Gears instantly clicked into action, the wall parting as individual cinder blocks slid back and then re-formed into a tiny set of stairs. Everything ran as smooth as clockwork. Cordelia hadn’t decided if Elijah Shadow was a good man or a bad man, but one thing was certain: he was a brilliant architect.
Plus there’s an honest-to-god secret passageway in my school, she thought. And there’s no reality where that’s not super cool.
Cordelia peeked through the opening. It smelled musty and old. She heard the pitter-patter of mice disturbed by the tremors she had sent through their world.
“Lead the way,” Cordelia told the boy.
He smiled and ascended the stairs. Cordelia clicked on the flashlight and crossed the threshold. She must have tripped some kind of mechanism in the process, because the wall sealed shut behind them.
14
Behind the Walls
At the top of the stairs, the narrow passageway grew just wide enough for Cordelia and the boy to walk side by side. It was colder here, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the boiler room. The wooden floor creaked beneath Cordelia’s sneakers but made no sound at all beneath the boy’s bare feet.
Although she was anxious to get somewhere safe, Cordelia’s curiosity refused to be subdued. She found herself shining the flashlight in all directions, eager to explore this hidden world.
“This is weird,” Cordelia said, “even by Shadow School standards.”
Cordelia’s parents were obsessed with HGTV, especially the kind of show where they took a bad house, tore it apart, and remade it into something beautiful. In Cordelia’s opinion, once you saw one episode, you had seen them all. There was usually popcorn, however, and she liked sitting between her parents and hearing the jokes that passed between them.
Consequently, she had a general idea of what a house was supposed to look like behind its walls. Long wooden studs nailed together into rows of precisely measured frames. Pink insulation like the bedding for some giant guinea pig. A network of metal pipes.
Shadow School was different.
The bays between each wooden frame weren’t open, like in a regular house. Instead, they were covered by elaborate, symmetrical patterns that resembled webs, if spiders spun wood and wire instead of silk. No two were exactly alike. Some webs were perfect tessellations. Others displayed elaborate designs that seemed random at first, but upon further investigation hinted at a mysterious order. Triangles and pyramids were the dominant shapes.
The boy tapped his foot against the floor, eager to move on.
“Hold your horses,” Cordelia said, one of her mother’s favorite expressions. She shone her light on one of the webs. “Look at all these triangles. It’s just like the portals when ghosts enter their Brights.”
Cordelia noticed a copper wire, as thin as fishing line, running from the web to a slightly thicker copper wire that hung from the ceiling. Investigating further, Cordelia saw that all the webs were likewise connected to this main wire, which ran parallel to the floor in either direction.
&n
bsp; “What’s this?” Cordelia asked. She hesitantly reached out and touched the wire with the tip of her index finger. A humming jolt passed through her body, like some kind of low-voltage electricity. Cordelia jerked her hand back in surprise.
When she turned around, the boy was facing her with arms crossed and a displeased expression on his face, as though she were a disobedient child.
“What?” Cordelia asked. “I was curious.”
The boy jabbed his finger forward: Hurry up! He looked around with genuine fear in his eyes, as though he was afraid that they might get caught if they stayed too long. Cordelia didn’t know what, exactly, the boy was afraid of, but she didn’t like the idea of something scary enough to frighten a ghost.
She walked faster.
“I’ll have to come back here with Agnes and Benji,” she said. “They’ll want to see this. Well, Agnes at least.”
Cordelia wasn’t sure if she was talking to the boy or herself. Mostly she wanted to fill the silence, which was almost as frightening as the darkness that pressed against them on all sides.
“Who do you think left this?” she asked, turning the flashlight in her hand. It looked fairly new. “Whoever it is, they definitely know about this passageway. I wonder what else they know about. Do you think they’re the ones who trapped me in the boiler room?”
The boy shrugged.
They reached their first corner. A black pyramid stood in their path. It was solid on two sides, but open in the front and back, leaving enough room for an average-sized adult to pass through it. The apex of this pyramid was connected to the copper wire that ran along the ceiling, which made a sharp right angle before continuing into the dark.
The boy stepped through the pyramid. Cordelia took a deep breath and followed him, feeling a prickling along her skin similar to when she had touched the copper wire.