The Mansion in the Mist

by John Bellairs

  The hours of the night slowly passed. At two in the morning the grandfather clock on the stair landing struck, and Mrs. Oxenstern suddenly sat bolt upright in her bed. It wasn't the clock that had awakened her but a noise, a noise downstairs. Mrs. Oxenstern had lived in this old house a long time, and she knew all its noises. Rattle rattle bang, rattle rattle bang. This was the sound of one of the French doors in the living room—it was loose and swinging back and forth in the wind. Maria, Mrs. Oxenstern's live-in maid, was to have locked up the house. Apparently she hadn't done a very good job, and she would hear from her employer in the morning. With a discontented sigh, Mrs. Oxenstern threw back the covers and swung herself out of bed. In slippers and bathrobe once more, she marched angrily down the carpeted steps and strode into the living room. Then she stopped and stared. One glass-paned door was swinging back and forth, and a cold wind blew into the room. The desk was surrounded by a trembling halo of gray light, and behind it stood a tall gaunt man in a black frock coat. Mrs. Oxenstern recognized him immediately—it was Mr. Ambrose, the man in the painting. She had seen it on the stair when she came to buy the desk. Now as she stood frozen in terror, she saw that the man was fingering some playing cards that lay on the desk. And she heard the words: Three, seven, nine. And the ace of spades reversed is death! Then the face of the man changed, so that now she saw a horrible decaying corpse, with glazed unseeing eyes and pallid lips pulled back in a rigid grin. The creature's eyes met hers, and she fell to the floor unconscious.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next afternoon everyone in Hoosac was reading about Mrs. Hanson Oxenstern's encounter with a ghost in her own living room. It was quite a tale, and Mrs. Oxenstern had told it herself to a reporter from the Hoosac News, who showed up at her house in response to a frantic phone call. Miss Eells got the newspaper delivered to the library around four in the afternoon. She sat in her office reading the article aloud to Anthony:

  "...and so Mrs. Oxenstern believes that she has seen a genuine apparition, the spirit of Mr. Ambrose, the long-dead owner of a gloomy mansion in New Stockholm, Wisconsin. A psychic from Minneapolis has volunteered to cleanse Mrs. Oxenstern's house of evil presences, but she is not interested in such things. She will sell the desk and a mirror that was also the property of Mr. Ambrose, and that, she feels, will be all that is necessary to give her peace of mind once again."

  Miss Eells put the paper down and looked up. Normally a story like this would have amused her, but she wasn't laughing now. She knew that Mr. Ambrose was not dead—instead he had vanished into another dimension, and he had become the evil creature known as the Grand Autarch. But if he wasn't dead, why had his ghostly form been seen hovering near the desk he used to own?

  "I wonder what Emerson will have to say about all this?" said Miss Eells, as she stared absently at her cluttered desktop. "He's supposed to be such a big expert on the occult, so I suppose he will have some half-baked explanation for what happened." She looked question-ingly at Anthony. "Do you think I should call him and tell him?"

  Anthony blinked in astonishment. "Why... why wouldn't you want to tell him?" he asked.

  Miss Eells frowned and bit her lip. "Because he'll want to buy the desk, that's why!" she said vehemently. "When I called him last night and told him my news, he immediately started making plans to break into Mrs. O.'s house and swipe the desk. Can you imagine? He really wants to go back to that otherworld and find the cube before the Autarchs do." Miss Eells folded her arms and threw herself back in her chair. The chair hit a small potted plant that was perched on a shelf nearby. It fell to the floor and smashed, of course. Anthony ran to get a broom and dustpan, and soon the mess was cleaned up. But as he was putting the clay fragments and the dirt into a wastebasket, Anthony turned suddenly.

  "Miss Eells, what if he's right?" he said in a trembling voice. "What if those awful people really can invade our world and change it? Maybe we ought to pay attention to what Emerson says and help him before it's too late!"

  Miss Eells rolled her eyes upward and sank back disgustedly into her swivel chair. "Heavens, Anthony!" she exclaimed. "I've lived with Emerson all my life, and I know him a lot better than you do! His mind churns out weird theories the way a meat grinder grinds out meat. It's true that by accident you found a way to that frightening moonlit world. But there's no evidence that the coin with the word wabe scratched on it is a clue of any sort. Maybe the person who hid the coin is named Wabe—Thaddeus Q. Wabe, the well-known vandal who ruins the value of rare coins. In any case, I think that the way back to Miserable Acres is closed forever, and Mr. Ambrose's desk isn't going to fly us back there. Emerson's theory is just a lot of hooey."

  Anthony looked at Miss Eells challengingly. "Well, if it's a lot of hooey," he asked, "then why don't you tell him about the desk?" Immediately Anthony regretted what he had said. He hardly ever spoke sharply to Miss Eells, but he really believed in Emerson's ideas.

  At first Miss Eells was surprised by what Anthony said, but then she laughed. "Em has always told me that I don't have a logical mind," she said, still chuckling. "And this certainly proves it! All right, all right... I'm not being reasonable or sensible. I guess in the back of my mind I have this awful fear that my brother might be right about the magic powers of that old desk. If it can whisk him back to the misty mansion, then he may land in a heap of trouble. And what's worse, we'll probably go with him, and we'll be in danger too!" She paused and scratched her ear thoughtfully. "Oh, well!" she sighed at last as she glanced at the phone on her desk. "He is my dear brother and I've never hidden anything—anything important—from him in my life. Maybe when he hears what happened to Mrs. Oxenstern, he won't want the desk after all. Who knows?" And with that she picked up the receiver, dialed O, and asked the operator for long distance.

  Needless to say, Emerson got very excited when he heard about what happened. And he was not at all afraid of the ghostly shape that had frightened the wits out of Mrs. Oxenstern. It was, he explained patiently, merely an astral body, a thing projected by the evil brain of Mr. Ambrose, alias the Grand Autarch.

  "My amulets will protect us as they did before," said Emerson calmly. "You really shouldn't worry, sis—you'll be in good hands if you decide to come back to the mansion with me. I'll be going, and I imagine that Anthony will want to come too. We'll find that cube and smash it or bring it back with us."

  "As easy as that, eh?" said Miss Eells. "Em, you are a brilliant man, but you tend to be overconfident, as I've told you at least eight thousand times in the past. Even if you can use that dratted desk to go back to that otherworld, there'll be a lot of danger. Do you understand that?"

  "Of course I do!" said Emerson. "Now didn't you say that Mrs. Oxenstern was getting rid of a mirror that she got at Ambrose's house. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Of course not!" Miss Eells shot back. "Why do you want to know about this mirror?"

  "Because it may be important," grumbled Emerson. "Look, I'll be down to see you tomorrow morning. And when I go over to buy that desk I'm going to say that my name is Emerson Dittersdorf. If I mention the name Eells, she'll probably throw me out on my ear!"

  "Probably," said Miss Eells, and with that she hung up.

  The next morning, true to his word, Emerson showed up at Miss Eells's house. As usual he was driving his 1938 LaSalle, but this time a green wooden trailer was hitched to the rear bumper. Emerson was wearing a very snazzy blue pinstripe suit he had bought in London and a trench coat with lots of pockets and flaps. After having breakfast with his sister he drove over to Mrs. Oxenstern's house and rang her bell. He told Mrs. Oxenstern that he was an antique collector from St. Cloud, and he wanted to buy her rare Frank Furness desk. Needless to say, Mrs. Oxenstern was only too happy to get the desk off her hands, and she said she would throw in an antique mirror for free. Emerson paid cash for the desk; then he lugged it out to the trailer and laid it carefully on its side. The mirror was wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine; Emerson put it on the f
loor of the trailer next to the desk. Then he threw a tarpaulin over everything and lashed it securely to the sides of the trailer. After a final thank-you to Mrs. Oxenstern, Emerson drove to Miss Eells's house on Pine Street. When he entered the living room he could see that she was pretty nervous.

  "Emerson, you're not bringing that haunted desk into my house!" she said. "I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink if—"

  "Myra!" snapped Emerson, cutting her off. "I'm just going to have a cup of tea. Then I'll drive straight back to St. Cloud with my loot. And then—"

  "Oh, don't tell me, don't tell me!" exclaimed Miss Eells, waving her hands in front of her face as if to fend off her brother. "When you get home you're going to put on that Gobi desert sand amulet and wear it all the time, and that will protect you from the ghosties. Am I right?"

  "You're way ahead of me," said Emerson. "Yes, that is exactly what I am going to do. And when I think the time is right I'm going to go back to find that sundial and dig near it." He paused and stared hard at Miss Eells. "And I could use some help," he added solemnly. "I really could."

  "I'll think about it," she said quietly. Then she smiled. "Come on, brother," she said, as she led the way to the kitchen. "We have Lapsang Souchong tea and English muffins with strawberries and whipped cream and honey. A second breakfast before you start your long drive back to St. Cloud. Sound good?"

  Emerson nodded and rubbed his hands cheerfully. Like his sister, he loved to eat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  During the weeks that followed, Miss Eells thought about Emerson a lot. She worried and paced the carpet during the wee hours of the morning. Because Anthony was her friend, she often told him about her fears, but if she wanted to be reassured, she was talking to the wrong person. Anthony was a real first-class worry wart, and he expected that a disaster of some sort would happen to Emerson. So they both got anxious together, which didn't help things much.

  One evening Miss Eells got a phone call from Emerson. To her great relief, he seemed to be all right, though it was clear from the sound of his voice that he was discouraged. He had expected to find playing cards hidden away in some secret compartment of the desk. But there weren't any cards, and as far as Emerson could tell, there weren't any secret compartments. He had had the desk X-rayed, and there were no hollow legs; the drawer was just a drawer, with no false bottom or sliding panels. Without the cards, the desk wouldn't do anything for him—Emerson was convinced of that, And why was he so sure that he would need the cards shown in the painting? Well, he had examined the leather top of the desk, and he had found rows of pinprick holes— four rectangles were formed, one for each card. They were arranged this way:

  Miss Eells was secretly overjoyed that Emerson had run into a stone wall, but she tried to be sympathetic. Then she asked him if he had seen or heard anything strange since he bought the desk.

  "Of course not!" said Emerson disdainfully. "I told you these amulets of mine work—the forces of evil can't come near me as long as I wear one."

  "Well, that's encouraging, I must say!" Miss Eells replied cheerfully. "By the way, how do you like the mirror? I never saw it—what's it like?"

  "It's a bit odd," said Emerson. "I'd call it Victorian trash. The bottom part is pointed like a church window, and it's enclosed in a gilded wooden frame. Then up on top are three little round mirrors, also in gilt frames. The whole effect is—"

  Miss Eells interrupted Emerson with a gasp—she suddenly realized that the "window" she and Anthony had seen in the painting was really a mirror! When she explained this to Emerson, he got very excited.

  "Myra!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I think you've put me onto something! I'll call you back later!" and with that he hung up.

  Miss Eells was thoroughly befuddled. She couldn't imagine what Emerson was thinking of, but she found out about half an hour later: He had pried loose a wooden slab that covered the back of the mirror, and there, glued to the slab, he had found the four playing cards: the ace, three, seven, and nine of spades.

  "So you see, Myra, it's going to work after all!" crowed Emerson. When I put those cards in place we'll be able to return to the world of the Autarchs. I can't thank you enough for putting me on the right track!"

  "Don't mention it," mumbled Miss Eells faintly. Secretly she was kicking herself for having such a big mouth. She should have kept it shut about the mirror in the painting—she really should have!

  "So what are you going to do now?" asked Miss Eells warily.

  "Why, I'm going back to the Autarchs' world, just as I said I would." Emerson paused, and his voice softened. He sounded gentle and coaxing, like someone who doesn't want to offend. "Won't you come with me, Myra?" he asked. "I said before that I'll need help, and I really meant it. There won't be any danger—with the amulets we'll be perfectly safe. And I could use Anthony's strong arms to help with the digging."

  Miss Eells didn't know what to say. She still didn't believe that the desk and the playing cards could take them back to the Autarchs' world. But if Emerson's crazy plan really worked, they would all be at risk. She did not trust her brother's devil-may-care optimism. What should she say?

  "Are you still there, Myra?" asked Emerson. He was beginning to sound impatient.

  "Yes, yes!" snapped Miss Eells. "Give me some time, for heaven's sake!" She chewed her fingernails and thought some more. Finally she convinced herself that Emerson's plan couldn't possibly work. So she would volunteer to go along and bring Anthony with her. And then when they were all left standing on Emerson's living room rug, she could say that she had done her best to be loyal and helpful.

  "Very well, Emerson," she said at last. "I'll go with you. So when are you planning to make this exciting trip?"

  "I am planning to go this coming Saturday," he said solemnly. "Around eight in the evening, after dinner. I'll expect you and Anthony around six. How will that be?"

  "I'll try," said Miss Eells, and with that she said goodbye and hung up.

  When she told Anthony about what had happened he got very interested. "You mean we're really going back there?" he asked excitedly.

  Miss Eells laid her hand on Anthony's arm and smiled sadly. "I know you're raring to go," she said, "but if I were you I wouldn't get my hopes up. We're just going up to Em's place to be polite."

  Anthony looked disappointed. "You don't think it'll work, then?"

  Miss Eells shook her head. "No, I don't. And why you two want to go back to that frightening place is more than I can figure out. Anyway, get permission from your folks to go up to St. Cloud around four on Saturday. We'll be staying overnight—after Emerson's hocus-pocus fizzles."

  The rest of the week passed quickly for Anthony, and when he showed up to work at the library on Saturday morning, he had his suitcase with him. Whether or not the grand scheme worked, he always enjoyed visiting Emerson's vast Victorian house with its strange old-fashioned furniture and odd collection of magical objects. So for the rest of the day, Anthony shelved books and dusted mantels and ran the vacuum cleaner over rugs in various rooms of the library. Finally three o'clock arrived, and Miss Eells rang a little gong as she always did to announce that the place was closing. People filed out, and the front door was bolted. Anthony felt a tightening in his stomach. Miss Eells hummed cheerfully as she turned out the lights and checked the windows. Then, with her big ring of keys in her hand, she motioned for Anthony to get his suitcase and follow her to the back entrance. When the last door was locked, Anthony followed Miss Eells to her car, a lovely white Cadillac, which was a present from Emerson. They put the suitcases into the trunk and climbed into the car. Miss Eells revved up the motor. They were on their way.

  Around eight that evening, Anthony and Miss Eells were sitting in Emerson's parlor. Two of the walls were covered by built-in bookcases full of rare old volumes. A large red Oriental rug lay in front of leather covered easy chairs and bronze floor lamps. Chinese vases and other knickknacks dotted the shelves and tables. In the middle of the room stood Mr. Ambrose'
s desk with the ugly gold-bordered mirror propped up beside it. A little stack of playing cards had been placed on one corner of the desktop. Miss Eells and Anthony sat in the easy chairs. Emerson was standing near the desk, dressed in his lumberjack outfit: red-plaid shirt, khaki trousers, and combat boots. He held a small collapsible shovel with a red blade. As the other two watched, he leaned it up against one side of the desk. Then he picked up the mirror and moved it to a corner of the room, where it would be out of the way.

  "Well!" said Emerson, turning to his guests and rubbing his hands briskly. There was an expectant hush in the room. Something wonderful and frightening was going to happen—or maybe it wasn't. In any case, they'd all know pretty soon.

  "Are you going to distribute the amulets?" asked Miss Eells. She tried to sound lighthearted and amused, but there was a tremble in her voice.

  "Yes," said Emerson in his best businesslike manner. "I'll just fetch the box and you can choose the ones you want." He walked over to a long library table and picked up the mahogany case that he had had with him in the Canadian cottage. Opening the lid, he went to Anthony first. As before, Anthony picked the tiny Russian icon that hung from a braided gold chain. Miss Eells took the Joachimsthaler, and of course, Emerson already had his Gobi desert sand tube hanging from a leather strap around his neck. Quietly Emerson closed the lid of the box and put it back on the table. Then he strode back to the desk and bowed to his two guests.