Brendan sighed. “He was the one who settled here. He jumped off a boat when it anchored in the bay, because San Francisco was so beautiful. And he stayed.”
“Maybe Dahlia Kristoff fell in love with him.”
“Like he’d date a bald chick.”
“She wasn’t bald then, obviously—”
“Guys!” Eleanor yelled. “We’re supposed to be looking for Mom and Dad!”
“We are, Nell—just help me get this trunk open—”
“No! We have to find them now!” Eleanor’s mouth trembled. “Aren’t you worried that they’re dead? Didn’t you see that table hit Mom and that chair hit Dad? And there’s blood on the wall downstairs? I don’t want to be an orphan! I want Mom! I want Mom!” Her face collapsed into angry angles. She doubled over, crying, pressing her fists into her eyes.
“Nell, it’s all right,” Brendan said, wrapping her up. “Close your eyes, okay?”
“They’re already closed!”
“Okay, so keep them closed. And . . . ah . . . think about a happy time.”
“Like before our parents were gone?”
“Ah, yes . . . Deal, a little help?”
“Think about the future,” Cordelia said, gently pulling Eleanor’s fists away from her face. “When we find Mom and Dad.”
Eleanor held back her next set of tears. “Are your guys’ eyes closed too?”
Cordelia looked to Brendan. He shut his eyes. She shut hers. They all pictured the same thing: their smiling parents, alive and well, occasionally bickering, often annoying, but full of love. “They’re closed,” Cordelia said.
“Okay, so we’re gonna open them, and then we’re gonna make it our mission to find Mom and Dad. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Brendan and Cordelia. They all opened their eyes and kept searching.
They didn’t find anything in the other bedrooms or bathrooms (Eleanor did pull her dolls out of the dumbwaiter, which pleased her), so the only place left was the attic. Brendan pulled the string, brought down the steps, and led them up.
“What time is it?” Cordelia asked. The attic was a wreck. The rollaway bed was tossed into a corner.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Because it looks like daylight outside.” Cordelia nodded to the window. The shutters were closed, as were all the shutters in the house, as if the Wind Witch had tried to conceal the mayhem she had caused. Thin shafts of sunlight shone through the slats—and through the translucent white curtains that were on every window. Did we get through the night? Brendan wondered. He’d never been so happy to think about dawn in his life. He walked to the window—and ducked as a small black shape dive-bombed him.
“A bat!” Brendan yelped. “Watch out, guys!”
Cordelia screamed way louder than Brendan or Eleanor expected, then hurtled toward the attic steps.
The bat, which couldn’t have been more than three inches long, plummeted toward her. Cordelia slapped at her face and nearly broke her neck tumbling down the steps before closing the attic door behind her. “Kill it!” she yelled.
“Cordelia?” Brendan said. “It’s just a bat! What’s your problem?”
“I hate bats!” Cordelia answered from downstairs. “Where did it come from?”
Brendan looked at the stand where the bat skeleton had been. Sure enough, the stand was there. But the skeleton was gone.
“Remember that bat skeleton I told you I saw? Well . . . I think it came to life.”
“If it’s a magical zombie bat, you shouldn’t mess with it!” Cordelia said, running her fingers through her hair. She was sure she could feel the bat’s sinewy wings brushing against her scalp.
In the attic, Brendan motioned for Eleanor to help him. They approached the window as the bat circled frantically. They opened the shutters; sunlight flooded the room. The bat retreated to a corner in the rafters.
“Is it gone?” Cordelia asked from downstairs. “Can I come up?”
But Brendan and Eleanor didn’t answer. They couldn’t. They were too busy staring out the window.
A primeval forest lay outside Kristoff House.
Trees with trunks as thick as houses reached up so high that Brendan and Eleanor couldn’t see the tops no matter how they craned their necks. Beams of dappled light broke on giant ferns spread like green fans over mossy logs. It looked like the painted background in a dinosaur exhibit, still and calm and even a bit fake. Trees marched into the distance, blending into a uniform brown-and-green curtain.
“Where are we?” gasped Eleanor.
Brendan opened the window. Sounds swept in: caws, chirps, and rustlings in the air.
Downstairs, Cordelia noticed that her siblings were unusually quiet, so she went back into the attic to see what was going on. “Hello?” she said, stepping to the window. “Whoa.”
The trees started just a few feet from the house. Smaller trees stood below them, where the honey-hued light broke through. A thin haze lay at eye level, listing up and down. They could make out the sound of a brook babbling in the distance and, behind the caws and chirps, a loud, grating buzz. The haze entered the attic, carrying a tang of dirt and pine and a balm of sweet flowers and sap.
“Where’s our street?” whispered Eleanor.
“Maybe the Wind Witch moved our house somewhere,” Cordelia said.
“Jurassic Park?” asked Eleanor.
“Humboldt County.”
“Does Humboldt County have those?” Brendan pointed to one of the towering trees in the distance. Circling it was the source of the buzzing—a monstrous dragonfly with the wingspan of a condor.
The dragonfly’s body was dull green, its wings clear mesh. It drifted up and down as it circled around the trunk, disappearing and reappearing, its purple eyes as big as dinner plates. It was so huge that the Walker children could see its complicated mouth parts twitching.
“Close the window!” Cordelia yelled.
Brendan leaned forward. “It can’t hurt us. It’s . . . what’s the word? Vegan?”
“Herbivorous. Seriously, Bren, close it.”
Brendan had another idea: He stuck his second and third fingers between his lips and whistled. It was one of those skills he was proud of that his sisters hated.
“Bren!”
“I just want to see if he’ll come closer!”
The sound aggravated the bat in the rafters. It dove for the window. Cordelia shrieked as it flew past her and darted outside. The Walker kids watched it zigzag through the mist, threading the trees—and then the dragonfly whipped out a long tongue and nabbed it.
Eleanor screamed as the dragonfly drew the bat into its mouth and started grinding it into digestible mush. The giant insect buzzed toward the house as it ate, its purple eyes focused on the Walkers like they were next.
Brendan slammed the window shut and they all ran from the attic, not stopping until they got to the kitchen with its comforting (if damaged) stainless steel appliances. Cordelia promptly opened all the shutters, locked all the windows, and turned to Brendan.
“Not exactly herbivorous,” said Cordelia.
“Where are we?” Eleanor asked. “Bugs aren’t supposed to eat bats! It’s the other way round!”
“Obviously it was different in dinosaur times,” said Brendan. “I think we were sent back to the prehistoric era.” He was reminded of those books Cordelia used to read to him when he was five—the ones with the tree house that traveled through time.
“I don’t know if dragonflies ever got that big,” Cordelia said. “I’m not sure where we are. . . .”
She stopped, noticing a black plastic corner peeking from under the fridge. Her cell. She pulled it out; it was scuffed but intact. It sprang to electronic life.
“Does it work?” Brendan asked.
Cordelia closed her eyes and made a wish, but when she opened them she saw what she expected. “No bars.”
“Let me see!” Eleanor grabbed the phone and tried Mom, but got CALL FAILED.
Brendan sigh
ed. “That’s what you get for not having four-G.”
“Maybe the landline works,” Cordelia suggested. Brendan took the cordless white receiver off the wall. He looked at his sisters. They looked like they were about to crack, like they needed some good news. Brendan briefly considered faking a call to 911, so he could give them some hope, but before he could decide if that was a good idea, all the lights in the house went out.
“What did you do?” Eleanor demanded. It wasn’t just the overhead lights; the LEDs on the microwave and stove were out too.
“Nothing!” Brendan said, putting the phone back in its cradle. Sunlight slanted through the curtains.
“I was worried this might happen,” said Cordelia. “We must’ve been running on a backup generator since the attack.”
“We have a backup generator?”
“We must have something—it’s probably in the basement. I don’t think there’s a ‘grid’ out here.”
“So let’s start it back up.”
“With what, Bren? Generators need fuel.”
“Maybe there are gas cans down there! Come on! We need to do something. Without power we’ll starve—”
“But what if there’s something else in the basement?” asked Eleanor.
“Like Mom and Dad,” said Cordelia. The Walkers looked at one another with a mixture of hope and fear, imaging the ways they could find their parents: safe and well . . . or laid out on the floor, cold.
“We need to be strong, not psych ourselves out,” said Brendan, trying to sound brave and unexpectedly pulling it off. “There’s gotta be a flashlight somewhere.” He rifled through kitchen drawers until he found a Maglite as thick as Eleanor’s arm. He tested it—it worked—and shone it on an unadorned door at the back of the room.
“Who’s going first?”
“You’ve got the flashlight,” said Eleanor.
Brendan reluctantly opened the door. Rickety wooden steps led down to a cool, cavernous basement that smelled of cedar and dust.
“Was this the part of the house that hung over the cliff?” Cordelia asked.
“I think so. I wonder if the barrels are still there.”
Brendan panned left and right so nothing could jump out at them. Cordelia jammed a shoe in the doorway so they couldn’t get locked in.
They went down the steps. Stacks of cans, a wheelbarrow, and a sledgehammer lay in one corner of the basement; a tent and power tools lay in another. Between them was a black box on six wheels, the size of a minifridge, pressed against the wall and plugged in.
“Is that it?” Brendan asked.
“I think so . . . ,” said Cordelia. She hopped on one leg, not wanting to let her single shoeless foot touch the floor, but when it did, she found it wasn’t so bad; the floor was worn-down wood, almost soft. Brendan read the yellow sign printed on the box: “‘BlackoutReady IPS Twelve Thousand.’ That sounds good.”
He illuminated the box’s control panel; it was completely dead. “Where does the gas go? Maybe there’s a manual.”
Brendan whipped around the flashlight, saw something on the floor—and screamed.
He was staring at a human hand.
Brendan jumped, knocking over Cordelia and Eleanor. The flashlight hit the floor and rolled, coming to rest beside a rusted old sewing machine. The beam of light pointed to a mannequin on the floor in a half-finished Victorian dress. The mannequin was missing a hand.
“Nice one, Bren,” Cordelia said. She picked up the fake hand; it was made of wax.
“Yeah,” said Eleanor. “You’re freaking out over a dummy. At least Cordelia got scared of a real bat.”
“Whatever.” Brendan took the flashlight and refocused on the BlackoutReady, finding the instructions on top. He read aloud, “‘The generator will automatically begin recharging through the input plug when power returns.’” He groaned. “If power returns.”
“What are we gonna do?” Eleanor asked.
“Sit here and wait to get killed by witches or giant dragonflies. Whatever comes first.”
“Don’t say that! Deal?”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”
“No!” Eleanor grabbed the flashlight and pointed it accusingly at her siblings. “We had a mission, remember? To find Mom and Dad!”
“That’s right, Nell. But we’ve checked the whole house, including the basement, and they aren’t here.”
“What about outside? We haven’t looked there yet.”
“That’s where the giant dragonflies are!”
“I don’t care what’s out there. We need to search for them while it’s still light out. You guys can stay here if you want.”
Eleanor stomped up the basement stairs. Brendan and Cordelia glanced at each other and rushed after her; she had the only light.
Back on the first floor, the Walkers opened all the shutters to let in enough light for them to see by. Then, in the kitchen, Brendan insisted on some self-defense measures before the group ventured out. He took a chef’s knife from the magnetic rack that was now on the floor, and he outfitted Cordelia with a steak knife and Eleanor with a barbecue fork. “Hold your weapon like a hammer,” he instructed, “with the blade pointed up.”
“I don’t have a blade,” protested Eleanor.
“Your fork, then. In a fight you can use your hand to deliver butt-end knife strikes—Nell, that’s not funny. Stand with your legs shoulder-width apart. Don’t you guys know anything? Ugh, forget it.”
Brendan led his sisters out of the kitchen, past the suit of armor that was knocked over in the hall. “Hold on.” He went back to the kitchen, grabbed some duct tape, and taped the breastplate around Cordelia. Then he put the helmet on and gave Eleanor the gauntlets, which were big enough to reach from her elbows to her wrists. Thus armed, looking better prepared for Halloween than for a fantastical forest, the Walker children opened the front door and stepped outside.
Brendan squinted in the light. The helmet hadn’t been such a good idea: the eye slits were meant for someone with farther-apart eyes. He tried to take it off, but it was stuck on his head. Cordelia tipped her head back and saw the tops of the trees, hundreds of feet up, against slivers of blue sky.
“Mom!” Eleanor called. “Mommy! Are you out here?”
“Dad! Hey, Dad, can you hear us?” Brendan said. “We’re safe! Kind of . . . ”
For a moment, the birds and bugs dipped into quiet . . . and then they started up again, filling the void as if the Walkers had never spoken. The children circled the house, sticking together, weapons drawn, calling out as they went. Brendan longed for anything familiar, even the stone angel. He noted the terrifying uniformity of the wilderness that surrounded them. Aside from the distant brook they had spotted through the attic window, there wasn’t anything to indicate direction. The only way to tell which way was which was by looking at the shadows of the trees. And if we didn’t go back in time, who’s to say we’re not in some weird place where the sun rises in the west and sets in the east?
When the Walkers came back around to the front door, they were no closer to finding their parents, but their calls had attracted something else.
A wolf, eight feet from tail to snout, was sniffing the ground in front of their home.
The wolf raised its head, revealing scarred, matted fur and milky, rabid eyes. It growled, stretching the noise out like a fake smile, exposing double rows of wet, razor-sharp teeth. It took a step toward them.
“Bren!” Cordelia whispered. “What do we do?”
Brendan tried to remember what he’d been taught in Boy Scouts about animal attacks—you were supposed to not move, stay quiet, and be calm; the animal wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t bother it—but that seemed irrelevant under the gaze of this creature, which clearly intended to eat them. All he could do was tense his muscles and gulp. The wolf bent its head over Eleanor. It was six inches taller than her; it looked capable of swallowing her whole. The line of its mouth ran nearly all the way up its triangular head
. Spittle gathered where its black lips were subsumed by fur.
The wolf sniffed Eleanor. Her breath came in tight jerks. Tears streamed down her face. The wolf opened its jaws. She closed her eyes, hyperventilating, smelling its meaty breath—
And the wolf stopped, cocked its head, and ran off behind the house.
Brendan couldn’t believe it. He caught Eleanor as her knees gave out, hugging her with Cordelia, using all his strength to tear off his helmet and kiss her hair.
“What happened?” Eleanor asked. “I thought I was gonna die!”
“The wolf must’ve been scared by us.”
“By what, our fierce appearance?” Cordelia said.
“Maybe,” suggested Brendan.
“Don’t be stupid. It heard something. Listen.”
They all heard it now, far off in the woods: hoofbeats.
“Horses?” Eleanor asked hopefully.
The sound grew louder, drumming through the ground into their legs and the pits of their stomachs. “Everyone inside,” Cordelia said.
“But Deal,” Eleanor began, “I want—”
“Now. Someone’s coming!”
Cordelia rushed to the entrance of Kristoff House. Brendan followed, dragging Eleanor with him. They slammed the door and turned all the locks. Brendan tried to set the house alarm, frantically pressing buttons on the keypad.
“Bren!” said Cordelia. “There’s no electricity!”
“Right, my bad.”
Cordelia led them to a window.
“What do you see?” Eleanor asked.
“Shh.” The truth was that Cordelia found it difficult to describe what she saw without sounding completely insane.
A band of warriors was riding up to the house on horseback. They were muscular and massive and terrifying, from the glinting helmets on their heads to the knifelike spurs that rattled on their leather boots. They had thick, bristly beards and big shining full-plate armor that made her breastplate look like a toy. They carried swords, axes, and bows. Their boots were caked with dried mud . . . or was it blood?
“How many horses are there?” asked Eleanor.
House of Secrets Page 5