by Dan Poblocki
The Trickster is getting tired of this voice that won’t let him do anything. He opens his mouth to argue, but then his mind flashes back to the searing pain he feels whenever he moves the mask. He snaps his mouth closed.
Footsteps echo from down the hallway. It’s the cue, he thinks. They’re finally coming. He steps backward, hiding inside a ragged opening in the wall.
The Trickster holds a defiant snicker inside. He can’t give away his position. This time when they take off down the hallway, he’ll chase them. And he’ll be screaming like crazy. The camera will zoom in for a close-up, and he’ll be laughing and laughing and laughing. The director will love it.
The footsteps come closer, accompanied by voices now.
“Wait, you guys,” says Marcus.
What’s that in his hand? the Trickster wonders. “I think we’ve been here before.”
“It’s the door the orphans drew on the chalkboard!” Poppy says. “The one with the nails!”
Marcus suddenly turns toward where the Trickster is hidden. “We’ve made a giant circle. It’s like what you said before, Poppy, about exploring the places that are hard to get to. This is probably the hardest door to open in the whole house!”
Azumi groans, grabbing Marcus’s sleeve. “Dash is probably freaking out by now. Come on, we’ve got to get back to the greenhouse.”
Dash is freaking out? Big surprise, thinks the Trickster.
Poppy stares at the door with the nails, nodding. “The last time we were here, something was scratching from the inside. Is it safe?”
Azumi throws her hands in the air. “I’ll tell you one thing you won’t find behind that door—Dash! He wasn’t in good shape when I left him. And he’s probably in worse shape now!”
Ooh, nice, thinks the Trickster, leaning forward. Quibbling in the ranks! It might just be the perfect time to—
Heavy hands fall on his shoulders, and he lets out the tiniest gasp before he can help himself. He tries to turn his head to see who it is, but the mask blocks his view. Thick fingers squeeze the muscles near his neck, almost too hard. His stomach squelches. Has he done something wrong? Is the director displeased?
“We have to figure out what’s inside. It might be the way out! We’ll go back for Dash as soon as we have a look,” Poppy says, pressing her ear against the door. After several seconds, she adds, “It’s quiet now. I don’t hear anything at all.”
“Great,” says Marcus, lifting the claw side of his hammer toward the closest nail. He catches it, twists his wrist, and the nail drops to the floor.
The hands on the Trickster’s shoulders pull him backward into the passageway so quickly that he nearly trips. He is turned around, surrounded by shadow, the voices of Poppy, Marcus, and Azumi fading behind him.
It’s okay, says the voice in his head. The director doesn’t want to disturb anyone.
“Del?” he whispers. “Is that you?”
The producer must need the Trickster for something more important than nails in a door. As the guiding hands push him farther into the dark, he senses many eyes watching from the shadows.
“Where are we going?” he asks the man behind him.
But the only answer is a long, soft, Shhhhh.
“DOES THIS HALLWAY look familiar to you?” Dash asked Azumi, holding up the light from his phone. “I feel like I’ve been past here before.”
“I can’t tell anymore,” she said. “Everything is dark and makes me nervous. I just want to go back to the greenhouse.”
Dash kept walking, his new crutch knocking rhythmically against the floor. “Moriko pushed us out of there for a reason. We have to find the others. Find my brother.”
“Wait—what’s that?” Azumi whispered at him. “Who’s there?” she called out.
In the distance, a shadow seemed to move. A whitish face hovered in the darkness, its features unclear.
“Cyrus?” said Dash, his esophagus constricting as his skin went cold. “Is that you?”
Dash stepped closer. It couldn’t be Dylan, could it? No way, he thought. Not unless Dylan was wearing makeup. Or maybe a mask. But why would—
Azumi sidled up beside Dash.
Dark laughter tumbled down the corridor, and the figure broke into a run. Dash and Azumi clung to each other, frozen, watching as the pale face became clearer. A deep frown. A bulbous nose. Arched black eyebrows. Was it another orphan? A new Special? The thing barreled toward them, arms outstretched, a clown with red lips in the center of its face like a wet splotch of blood. A muffled scream broke out from within the mask.
Dash and Azumi snapped out of their shock, turned, and ran. The crutch thumped hard on the floor as Dash hobbled as fast as he could on his hurt ankle. Terrified by whatever was behind them, they ran without thinking, pushing harder and harder to move forward. But the air felt thick, like glue, and Dash could hardly catch his breath.
The yowling behind them grew louder as the walls narrowed. The blue wallpaper with the Gothic pattern gleamed in the bouncing light of Dash’s phone. The familiar thumping sound echoed out—whump-whump, whump-whump—as the paper’s velvet overlay began to throb out a heartbeat upon the satin.
Dash watched in horror as the lines on the paper began to undulate. Then, with a sticky, sucking sound, the velvet and satin separated. Yards of dark vines swelled into the hallway, searching the space like tiny tentacles floating in deep ocean water.
“Don’t let them touch you!” Dash yelled. Azumi whimpered and slowed. He grabbed her arm, but she jerked to a stop, letting out a screech as her head was yanked backward.
“Yowwch!”
Dash turned to see a cluster of the blue tendrils clutching the end of Azumi’s long hair, cinching it like a ponytail.
“Let go of her!” he cried out. He pulled hard at Azumi’s jacket. There was a hissing sound from where her hair met the velvet vines, and then suddenly, her hair broke, dark strands falling to the floor. Several more of the vines reached toward them. Dash grabbed Azumi’s arms again, and this time when he pulled, she came with him.
From behind them, the boy in the clown mask screamed with laughter. Dash and Azumi dodged the vines that continued to stretch toward them. Ahead, they made a turn. The walls in this new corridor were wood. No more wallpaper. No more vines. “This way!” yelled Dash, pivoting and towing Azumi along.
Daylight spilled in through a window, just bright enough to show three figures nearing the other end of the hallway.
“Poppy! Marcus! Dylan, is that you?!” Dash called, so relieved to have found them that he stumbled along even faster. But Azumi skidded to a halt when the figures turned, grabbing Dash’s elbow to slow him too.
Three masked children stood looking at them, the plastic over their faces shiny and bright, as if freshly cleaned. The children wearing the cat and bear masks blocked the path forward. And the boy in the rabbit mask stood off to the left, just inside a gaping hole in the wood wall.
“Do you think you can take them?” whispered Azumi, panting.
“Are you crazy? No way. Not just the two of us.” Dash turned, glancing around, bracing himself for another attack. The Specials stared blankly at him, as if trying to steal his focus. But then he noticed a tall door to his right, a wooden sunburst shape crowning its top. “I’ve been here before,” he whispered to Azumi.
Thick iron nails were scattered all over the floor, bent and broken, as if someone had yanked them from the splintered door frame. And the door was open a crack.
The horrible clown rounded the corner, shrieking with laughter that died when he saw the Specials at the other end of the hall. They leapt forward, and Dash and Azumi shoved at the door with the sunburst. Dodging small swiping hands, the two slipped inside, slamming the door behind them.
DASH AND AZUMI pressed their full weight against the door, holding it shut. Dash’s whole body heaved with breath. He felt for the sturdy latch by the doorknob and turned it, listening to the heavy click of the lock falling into place. “You all right?” he a
sked Azumi, wheezing.
She nodded, her jaw slack as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. What was still happening. “Those were the Specials you told me about?”
Dash nodded. He waited, tensed, for the Specials to start pounding from the other side. They were probably waiting to catch them off guard. He tried again to slow his breathing.
A faint light seeped in through the tall, thin windows to the huge wooden table in the center of the room. Between each window was a bookcase, some filled with faded leather-bound books, others with taxidermied animals with unnerving black glass stares. A large, dusty crystal chandelier loomed over the table. The stale air was musty, as if the door they’d come through had been shut for decades.
“Earlier today,” Dash whispered, “we heard something scratching from in here.”
“Well, that’s creepy,” said Azumi, hugging herself. “But it looks like whatever it was is gone now.”
“The door was nailed shut. I wonder who opened it?” Dash listened for movement out in the hall, but it was as if the entire house had gone silent. Where had the Specials gone?
There was movement underneath the table in the center of the room—a soft shiver of fabric shifting, the weight of a body settling.
Dash and Azumi went still, staring at each other with wide eyes. Dash forced himself to reach for the switch on the wall. The chandelier glowed, casting little rainbows on the floor and ceiling and walls.
“Who’s there?” Azumi called out, her voice wobbly.
One of the wooden chairs shuddered and then slid away from the table. Dash raised his crutch like a club.
Someone emerged from under the opposite side of the table and stood, a pink messenger bag on her shoulder.
“Poppy!” said Dash, flooded with relief.
“Oh thank goodness!” said Azumi. “We thought you might be—”
Someone else rose up beside Poppy, his red curls glistening in the light overhead. “And me,” said Marcus. He gasped when he saw them. The skin around his eyes looked almost bruised with worry.
“What’s wrong?” asked Dash, feeling silly as the words escaped his mouth. What’s wrong? Only everything!
To his surprise there came the sound of someone else shifting underneath the table. Dash’s heart clenched. Had Poppy and Marcus found Dylan? But when the next person stood, both he and Azumi yelped, stumbling backward away from the group.
“Who are you?” yelled Dash. The girl standing between Poppy and Marcus looked exactly like the girl who was cowering beside him. It was Azumi.
Both girls wore identical expressions of horror, as though they couldn’t believe what they were seeing: a double of themselves.
“She’s Azumi,” said Marcus. His lips were white, as if he was about to vomit. Nodding at the girl beside Dash, he asked, “Who’s that?”
“I’m Azumi,” said the girl beside Dash.
“What’s going on here?” asked Marcus. “Dash, where did you find this … this thing?”
“I’m not a thing!” shouted the Azumi by Dash. The only difference between her and the other girl was the dirt on her clothes and the blunt hank of hair cut short by the vine. “I’m your friend, you jerk!”
“I found her where she left me.” Dash nodded at the other Azumi. “Inside the freaky old greenhouse.”
“I told you I was going to get help,” the girl answered. “I swear, I was bringing everyone back to help you when they found this door. Right?”
Poppy nodded. “We thought it would be a good idea to open it.”
“I don’t care about that!” said the Azumi with the short hair, her voice rising. She held her hands out at the long-haired version of herself. “What are we going to do? There are two of me!”
“Azumi never said anything about having a twin,” said Poppy, fake cheer in her voice, as if she was struggling to find the perfect answer to this weird problem.
“I don’t have a twin!” yelled Azumi with the short hair. “I only have one sister. Her name is Moriko and she’s waiting for us back in the greenhouse. She’s going to get us all out of here. And that”—she pointed at the girl standing between Poppy and Marcus—“is not her.”
“How dare you?” said the Azumi with long hair, leaning forward and clutching the edge of the table. “How dare you even say my sister’s name?! Moriko is dead. Whatever is left of her is lying in a forest in Japan, at the base of Mount Fuji. I haven’t seen her in a year. Nobody has!” She finished with a disgusted sneer. “I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but if Cyrus Caldwell put you up to this, he’s even sicker than we’ve all imagined.”
Dash could feel the Azumi beside him trembling. Then, all at once, she was across the room, scrambling onto the wide table. She jumped, tackling the other Azumi, her momentum tumbling them both back toward the bookshelves several feet away, a tangle of arms and legs and identical denim jackets.
“Stop it!” screamed Poppy as the girls hit each other, clawing clothes and hair and skin. Memories of Thursday’s Hope flickered through her brain—the girls who fought like this every week, the girls who would attack her with words and sometimes fists. She leapt onto the two Azumis, jamming her hands between them, forcing them apart. “Help me!” she yelled to Marcus and Dash.
Shaking off their surprise, Marcus and Dash rushed in, grabbing the two Azumis and pulling them backward. The Azumis continued to kick at each other even after they were dragged apart.
Poppy slid one of the wooden chairs into the space between them. “Why are you doing this, Cyrus?!” she yelled. Her voice echoed off the ceiling, as if that’s where the orphanage director was hiding, watching with silent glee at the sick mess he’d created.
“This is what he wants!” said Poppy. “Don’t you see? Everything here is trying to divide us up. We have to stick together. You have to calm down. Now!”
Eventually, the girls grew still.
“That’s a nice thought and all, Poppy,” said Dash, his hands looped under one Azumi’s arms, grasping the back of her neck, “but it doesn’t change the fact that there are two of the same person here with us.” He glanced over to where he had come in. “The last thing we need is for—” He stopped talking, his face a mask of horror. “Where did the door go?”
EVERYONE WHIPPED THEIR heads around to look. The wall where the door had been was now solid, covered with dark floral wallpaper. Their exit was gone.
“What?!” Poppy cried out. “How?” She stood and then rushed over to the wall, sliding her palms around as if it would just appear again if she found exactly the right spot.
The door’s gone! Marcus fought against the churning in his stomach. “There’s our answer, Poppy,” he said quietly. “In a house that changes shape, why would someone need to nail a door shut? To make us curious about what was behind it.”
“Then the door was a trap?” asked the girl in Marcus’s arms. She rubbed at her chin, where a bright-red bruise was starting to appear. She ducked her head and then slid away from him.
The other Azumi scooted back from Dash and crouched at the edge of the nearest bookcase.
“Obviously!” said Marcus. “Those ‘orphans’ we met tricked us. Oh, yeah, go looking for that door with the nails. Here, take a hammer so you can get through! We’re oh so helpful!”
Poppy blinked and then turned slowly, taking in the room.
“What is it, Poppy?” asked Marcus. “What bright idea do you have now?”
“Nothing. Not yet. It’s just … ” Poppy glanced at the group, eyes wide. “I don’t believe it. I don’t think those orphans tricked us at all. What if there’s something here in this room, a clue about Cyrus, that will help us get out?”
“Out of the room?” asked Dash.
Poppy shook her head. “Out of the house! Maybe there’s a secret passage or a door. We just need to find it.”
The light outside was growing dimmer, turning the room an even deeper shade of blue. Evening was coming quickly.
“I don’t ca
re what we do,” said short-haired Azumi. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that I’m finding my sister again if it kills me.”
“Do you think you can do that without trying to kill me first?” asked long-haired Azumi.
“You don’t get a say,” said Dash, glaring at her. “And you don’t get to argue. Neither of you. Not anymore. Not until we figure out what’s going on with the two of you.”
“Just stay away from me,” said long-haired Azumi, nodding at the other. She patted the bruise on her chin and winced. “Or I promise I’ll make you sorry.”
Marcus sighed and crossed his arms. Poppy hiked her messenger bag higher on her shoulder.
“Look, there’s no door anymore. We can’t go look for Moriko; we can’t go find Dylan. So what can we do? We might as well start exploring,” said Dash. “Poppy, what did you have in mind?”
Poppy cleared her throat. It felt weird to go back to trying to figure things out. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask Dash how he was or if he’d found any traces of Dylan. He was limping, his ankle looked really swollen, and he had a thick stick he was using as a crutch. What had happened? “I was thinking that maybe the orphans we met in the classroom gave us hints about how to get out,” she said.
“They wrote messages on a chalkboard,” said Marcus. “Stuff about Hope and Fear. Very helpful.”
Dash turned to the short-haired Azumi, who was still hunched by the wall at the corner of one bookcase. “Moriko mentioned something about hope and fear too. How they’re tied together. Once something is important enough to hope for, it has power over you. Once you have hope, you start to fear. Something like that?”
The other Azumi, the one with long hair, spoke up. “If your orphans could write messages on the chalkboard, why wouldn’t they just give us all the answers we need?”
“Maybe they didn’t have time,” said Poppy, trying to keep her voice positive. “Maybe it’s more complicated than a simple, go here, do this.”
“At least there’s one good thing about that door disappearing,” said Marcus.