“What big test?” Eric asked.
“The one that’s not really happening,” Fiona replied. “But Maggie’s mom and your dad were very impressed with the idea and were more than okay with it.”
Just then, Uncle Carl and Keira rushed across the yard and climbed back into the car. This time Maggie ended up on Eric’s lap.
“What happened?” Mr. Trouble asked.
“They were definitely here,” Uncle Carl said. “Up until probably thirty minutes ago.”
“About the time we abandoned base camp,” Fiona said.
Uncle Carl nodded. “I think they must have thought their surrogates were going to succeed so they went someplace else to wait for the package to be delivered.”
“What package?” Eric asked. “I thought they wanted—”
The four members of the Trouble family were now staring at him.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m the package.”
“Think of it this way,” Keira said. “You’ve never been so popular in your life.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Mr. Trouble announced. “Uncle Carl, I’m going to leave you here to keep an eye on the house while I drop everyone else off at Maggie’s. Then I’ll come back and maybe we can catch them returning.”
Uncle Carl sucked at the inside of his cheek but didn’t get out of the car. “There’s something else.”
Mr. Trouble looked both curious and annoyed. “What?”
“I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”
16
No one wanted to wait in the car so they all got out and followed Uncle Carl to the house.
As they were walking, Eric noticed that Fiona looked like she wanted to say something to her brother, but she stopped herself and moved over to whisper something to Keira instead. Keira frowned at her then picked up her pace so they weren’t walking together any more.
He was about to walk up and ask what was going on when Maggie tugged at his shirt. He slowed and joined her at the back of the pack.
“We should get out of here,” she whispered. “These people are insane.”
“They just want to help,” he said.
“Help with what? You’re having some bad luck, that’s all. There’s not some make-believe force doing this to you. That kind of thing doesn’t really happen. This isn’t one of those stupid comic books you read.”
“They’re not comic books,” he said quickly. “They’re manga. And they’re not stupid.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“I know the difference between fantasy and reality. But you didn’t see what happened at the library, and you weren’t there this afternoon when they tried to kidnap me. And what about my mom?”
“She’s on a business trip! Why would your dad lie about that? This other stuff they’re feeding you is just make-believe.”
“It’s not make-believe, Maggie. There’s something going on here and these guys know what it is. If you want to go, go. I won’t stop you.”
“Hey! Hurry up,” Fiona called out. She and the others had just passed through the gate into the backyard.
Eric looked at Maggie. “I’m staying.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay, too. But only to prove to you how crazy this is.”
“Fine.”
As soon as they joined the others, Fiona shut the gate.
“This way,” Uncle Carl said.
He led them along the back of the house and over to a set of concrete steps that descended to a basement door.
Uncle Carl knelt down and pointed at a small black dot on the top of the retaining wall that kept the backyard from falling into the stairs. “I didn’t notice until too late.”
Mr. Trouble hunched over next to him to see what he was talking about. After a moment, he patted Uncle Carl on the back. “Could have happened to any of us.”
“What is it?” Eric asked Keira.
“A Maker motion sensor,” she said. “If there’s one, there’s more. It means they’ll already know we’ve been here.”
Mr. Trouble stood back up. “And that means they won’t be coming back.”
“So they’re gone?” Eric asked, suddenly hopeful. “They’ve left town? They won’t be bothering me any more? What about my mom? Will she be coming back now?”
Mr. Trouble stepped over and put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear. What I meant is that they won’t be coming back here, to this house. So waiting for them to return would be a waste of time.”
“Oh,” Eric said, disappointed. For a moment there he’d thought it was all over, that everything would go back to normal.
Mr. Trouble must have sensed this because he smiled and said, “Don’t worry. We haven’t lost a client, or a parent, yet.” He turned back to Uncle Carl. “You could have told us about the motion sensors in the car.”
Uncle Carl struggled back to his feet. “Of course I could have. But that’s not really what I wanted to show you.” He headed down the stairs then looked back at everyone. “Well, come on. We don’t have all day.”
Keira went first, then Fiona.
“You go ahead,” Mr. Trouble said to Maggie.
She looked at him suspiciously but followed the girls anyway.
Eric didn’t move. Going down the stairs was something he’d hoped to avoid. He knew he was being dumb, but basements had always given him the creeps. All those horror movies couldn’t be wrong, could they?
Mr. Trouble tapped Eric on the shoulder. “You first or me?”
Eric took a breath. “I’ll go.”
He headed down and could hear Mr. Trouble right behind him. By the time they reached the bottom, the others had all gone inside. How Uncle Carl had gotten the door open, Eric had no idea. It certainly didn’t look like he’d used any force.
The basement at Eric’s house was only half finished and used mostly for storage. The one at his grandparents’ farm was dark and cold and smelled like dirt. This one, though, was not like either of them.
If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he’d just walked through the front door upstairs. There was a couch and chairs and tables. On one wall was a large television, and on the others, photographs and paintings were arranged in a way Eric thought his mother would have liked.
“Over here,” Uncle Carl called out.
He was standing next to a set of stairs. Once he was sure everyone was heading his way, he went up.
Eric had to admit this house was pretty nice. The lights and the carpets and the pictures and the furniture all had that expensive look that made him afraid to touch anything. Even the handrail on the staircase felt rich.
The door at the top led to a wide hallway with high ceilings and more pictures on the walls.
“Uncle Carl?” Fiona shouted.
He was nowhere in sight.
“Uncle Carl?” she repeated.
His head poked out from a doorway halfway down the hall. “Over here,” he said and disappeared back inside.
The room turned out to be a bedroom with a large black dresser and an even larger matching black bed. Uncle Carl was on his knees on the other side of the bed, with only the back of his head and his shoulders visible. The others moved around to join him.
“Look, look,” he said.
Mr. Trouble was the first to stop in his tracks. A second later, his sisters did the same.
“Is that a…?” Fiona trailed off.
No one spoke for several seconds.
“What’s the big deal?” Maggie whispered to Eric.
“I don’t know,” he replied.
Set against the wall in front of Uncle Carl was what looked like a miniature set of drawers. It was maybe a foot across by a foot tall and perhaps four inches wide. Along the front were nine identically sized drawers, like a game board for tic-tac-toe. The frame of the box was painted dull yellow, while the drawers alternated between neon pink and bright lime green. There were black characters, like letters, on each, bu
t nothing Eric recognized. Perhaps strangest of all, the box seemed to be attached to the wall by a layer of some kind of white paste.
Eric glanced around at the Trouble family. They were all still staring at the object.
“It’s just a box,” he said.
Without looking away, Mr. Trouble said, “It’s not just a box. It’s a Maker’s box.”
Eric looked at it again. “What’s it for?”
Mr. Trouble finally broke out of whatever trance he’d been in and knelt down next to his uncle. “That’s a good question. We’ve found signs of them on almost every job. The wax they use to hold them in place leaves a nice square impression, always the same size. But we’ve only found two other actual boxes. One in 1895 outside New Orleans, and one in 1957 in Memphis. But so far we haven’t been able to figure out their purpose.”
“Eighteen ninety-five?” Maggie said, obviously not believing it.
Mr. Trouble looked back at her and smiled. “Great-times-three granddad Robert. He wasn’t Mr. Trouble for long but he sure achieved a lot in his limited run.”
“What’s in the drawers?” Eric asked.
Mr. Trouble shrugged. “The others were empty so my guess is nothing.” He glanced at his uncle. “Have you checked?”
Uncle Carl shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked like he really wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“No time like the present,” Mr. Trouble said, reaching for the top left drawer.
Both Fiona and Keira sucked in deep breaths. But before Mr. Trouble touched the drawer’s knob, Uncle Carl grabbed his hand.
“We should wait until we have it in the workshop,” he said. “Just in case there is something in one of the drawers. That way, we’ll be in a position to contain it and analyze it right away.”
It was apparent Mr. Trouble didn’t want to wait, but he nodded and pulled his hand back, leaving the drawer unopened.
The second he was out of the way, Uncle Carl lifted the flap of his jacket. On the inside there were over a dozen different pockets. He unzipped one and removed a long black-handled tool. Attached to the handle was a thin piece of metal about half an inch wide and six inches long. He pushed a red button on the base then held his free hand near the metal strip, waiting.
As soon as the metal started giving off a slight glow, he pulled his hand away then slid the metal end into the wax, melting it. Working quickly, he cut a line along the top of the box and down both sides—there was no wax along the bottom. Once finished, he pulled his wax cutter out and hit the button again. The glow began to fade right away.
“Here,” he said, handing the tool to Keira. “Careful. It’s still hot.”
Freed up now, he put a hand to either side of the box but hesitated before actually touching it.
“You want me to do it?” Mr. Trouble asked.
“No,” Uncle Carl said quickly. “I’ve got it. It’s just…” He looked back at everyone. “I never thought we’d actually find one.”
“Maybe someone should take a picture,” Maggie joked.
The whole Trouble family turned and looked at her.
“She’s right,” Fiona said. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “Smile, Uncle Carl.”
Uncle Carl looked at the camera, unsmiling, and she took the shot.
“Perfect,” she said.
This time, when Uncle Carl reached for the box, he grabbed it by the sides and pulled.
There was an odd whiny-creaky sound.
Mr. Trouble leaned over his uncle’s shoulder and looked into the growing gap between the box and the wall.
“Stop!” he yelled.
Uncle Carl froze, the box suspended in the air, four inches from the wall.
Mr. Trouble held his hand out to Fiona. “Camera.”
She gave him her cell phone. He moved it so that the lens was pointed into the gap then snapped off a shot. He looked at the display, unsatisfied.
“Does this thing have a flash?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
Mr. Trouble scanned the room and then nodded toward one of the nightstands. “Eric, grab that lamp for me and bring it over here, would you?”
The lamp was made of brushed steel, and looked like it would cost Eric every cent of his allowance from now until the end of high school to replace if he broke it.
“Please hurry,” Uncle Carl said. “Not sure how much longer I can hold it like this.”
Eric unplugged the lamp from the wall then carefully carried it over to Mr. Trouble.
“I’ll plug it in,” Fiona offered.
She grabbed the end of the cord and stuck it into a socket a couple of feet away. Eric then clicked the switch on the base and the bulb lit up.
“Hold it next to the camera so the light gets in behind the box,” Mr. Trouble said. “Be careful, though, don’t touch the box itself. Don’t know what a little electricity might do to it.”
Eric did as he was told, with Fiona helping out by holding the cord so it wouldn’t droop down.
Mr. Trouble took another shot, this time smiling at the results. “That’ll work.”
“Can I move now?” Uncle Carl asked.
“It’s all yours.”
While Uncle Carl pulled the box from the wall, Eric returned the lamp to the nightstand. When he walked back over, Fiona and Keira were looking at the image on the cell phone.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Don’t see why not,” Fiona said, turning the phone toward him.
On the right side of the image was the back of the box, and on the left was the wall, but it was what was in between that obviously interested the Troubles. Roughly in line with the back of each of the drawers were thin strings or cords attached from the box to the wall. Nine cords in all.
“Did the other boxes have these?” he asked.
“Not as far as we know,” Fiona said. “There was no mention of anything like this in the records.”
“Definitely something new,” Keira said.
Eric looked at the picture again. “What do you think they are?”
Fiona shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“All right, everyone,” Mr. Trouble said. “We’re out of here.”
Cradling the box carefully in his arms, Uncle Carl brought up the rear as they went back to the car. He then wrapped it in his jacket and put it carefully in the trunk.
“Shouldn’t you hold it?” Eric asked when Uncle Carl got in beside him.
Uncle Carl looked unsure. “Do you think I should?” He leaned forward and touched Mr. Trouble on the shoulder. “Maybe I should get it before we go.”
“It’s fine where it is,” Mr. Trouble said, starting the car.
“Are you sure?’
“I’m sure.”
“Where to now?” Eric asked. “The workshop to figure out what’s inside?”
“The workshop’s still flying around, remember?” Keira said.
“Oh. Right.”
“Now we take you guys home,” Mr. Trouble said.
“That’s right. Slumber party.” Fiona raised her arms halfheartedly into the air. “Woo-hoo.”
Maggie groaned.
As Mr. Trouble pulled the car away from the curb, Eric caught a quick glimpse of someone at a house across the street. He was leaning out from behind a stack of firewood, watching them drive off.
Within just a few seconds, he was out of sight. But it had been long enough for Eric to get a look at the guy’s face.
Peter Garr.
And he was sniffing the air.
Excerpt from the TFS Encyclopedia
Maker’s Box
Name given to box that appears to be present at each Maker hideout at some point.
Until 1895, the square-shaped waxy residue that was often found in connection with a case was thought to be unimportant. This residue was always found on a wall in the house the Makers used as their residence.
In 1895, Robert Trouble discovered the first Maker’s box still attached to the wall in a
house near New Orleans, Louisiana. The box had slots for nine drawers across the front, but all the drawers were missing. The box, though in poor condition, is stored at TFS headquarters.
Here Comes Mr. Trouble Page 14