Escaping Midnight (What Goes On in the Walls at Night Book 3)

by Andrew Schrader

It reminded me of why I liked her so much. What drew me to her in the first place. Even though she was wealthy, she’d had a tough life. Her parents were basically absent. Her real father, her biological father, had left when she was a year old. She’d never known him. When her mother remarried, she and Melinda’s new stepfather had started taking long, expensive vacations, leaving Melinda at home.

  And even though she’d had everything handed to her—some would call her an overly privileged white girl—there was a sadness behind her eyes that I understood.

  “But if we don’t find it,” I argued, “then Dad will.” I looked up. “We have to destroy it. Smash it at a junkyard. Burn it to a crisp, scatter the ashes. Anything. Dad said that he needs all of the dolls for his plan to work. Maybe that means if we destroy one of them, they all lose their power. Maybe this all goes back to normal.”

  “I don’t want to find another one of those things.”

  “Neither do I.” I looked at her. “But what choice do we have?”

  For the next fifteen, twenty minutes I scoured the papers in the folders we had. But I found nothing.

  I threw the papers aside and stood up. I paced around, my face growing red, my voice starting to shake. I wanted to give up.

  Melinda calmly sat in my place, studied the next page for a moment. “What’s this?”

  I craned my head over her shoulder. She was pointing at a diagram of the back yard. There was a box with measurements on the sides: 8’ and 10’.

  “A shed, maybe?” I said. “But there’s nothing in my backyard. It’s just grass and some trees.”

  “Look here.” Melinda’s finger traced the page. “This wasn’t just a shed. See?” She flipped to more detailed sketches. “It looks like a fallout shelter or something.”

  Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “So, this structure would be . . .” I went to my bedroom window overlooking the backyard and pointed. “Right there?”

  Melinda joined me, drawings in hand. She squinted. “Yeah, the upper-right part of the yard.”

  I frowned. I couldn’t see a thing. Maybe it was never built. Maybe these were just plans and nothing more.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At 3:48 a.m. we crept through the kitchen and into the back yard, careful to slide the back door open ever so gently. Every time it scraped against the bottom railing, my heart leapt. Melinda and I pushed up on the door handle to release some of the friction. Dad was asleep down the hall, and probably couldn’t hear us, but who knows how well half-doll men really hear, amiright?

  We crossed the back yard, feeling vulnerable and naked in the diffused light of the never-dark sky. It suddenly felt eerie, like all the plants and trees were watching us. Were they with us, or against us? I like to think they were cheering for us, those decades-old trees who had possibly even been around when the house was built, who knew all its secrets and were waiting with eager amusement to see if we too would discover them.

  Grab the popcorn, I told them mentally. I’m glad we could put on a show for you this evening. To my right is the magnificent shaking Melinda. Don’t let her clutching my arm fool you. She’s tough as stone and could kick your ass, even with half a doll head poking out of her.

  We reached the spot. Melinda made a rough outline in the grass with her shovel, showing me where the shed was supposed to be. We gently pressed our shovels into the rocky ground and stood on the edges. Quietly, we began removing the grass and dirt and piling it along the back fence.

  About three inches down, our shovels struck something hard. We knelt down and swept the dirt away until the boarded-up entrance made of plywood was revealed.

  I studied the edges. The wood was nailed down. I jammed the claw end of a hammer underneath the plywood, braced myself with bent knees, then stood up.

  The plywood came up easily. Decades of weather had weakened the nails. We set it aside.

  I clicked the flashlight on my phone. A bright beam lit up a short stairwell walled with wood. Little rocks fell into the hole. I began the descent.

  When I reached the bottom, I shined my flashlight around. It was dark, damp, dingy. The floor was dirt; the walls were just wood with huge swaths of insulation stuck between the beams. It didn’t look like any kind of bomb shelter I’d ever seen in the movies.

  “Hey,” Melinda whispered. She was hunkered down on the other side of the room, pointing at something in the wall. I squinted as I approached.

  The wooden slats that made up that portion of the wall ended about two feet from the floor. Underneath them was a blank piece of wood, square in shape.

  Melinda knocked on it. Nothing. She shrugged and stood up.

  “Wait.” I handed her the light, knelt down, and tapped gently on the wood. Thunk, thunk.

  Bracing myself on the floor like a catcher, I placed both hands on the piece of wood and slid it to the left, revealing—

  “A tunnel?” I looked up at Melinda in confusion.

  She backed away. Her light wavered.

  I simply nodded at her and began crawling.

  I wasn’t as claustrophobic as I thought I’d be. Maybe it was because I’d done this before and was used to it, or maybe it was because I knew I had to be strong for Melinda. Either way, I crawled fast through that tunnel until I reached another wall, maybe eight feet in. This wall was made of wood, too. With one push it gave way, and I rolled headfirst into a larger area.

  Bones were chained to the walls. Once complete skeletons, the ligaments had broken down over time, leaving only bits and pieces in the spots anchored by metal. Six bodies. Fully decayed. At some point, animals had gotten into this crypt. Some of them had died too, as the rat skeletons on the ground attested.

  I stood in shock, growing dizzy. I stumbled back, tripped, fell to the ground. My phone skittered across the dirt. Crawling hastily, I snatched it up, whirled around on my knees—

  And came face to face with another doll.

  My skin grew ice cold. I began to shake. I choked on my own inhale.

  I swallowed hard, then held my light up to the doll’s face. It belonged to the same family as the others, that was for sure. Same flat features, though this one was decidedly skinny. A gaunt face, long eyelashes, and pursed lips. Representing a girl about my age, it had a model-esque quality to it. Of everyone I’d seen in the little demented family, I assumed this girl was the one most likely to be a star.

  Upon seeing it, and holding it in my hands, I felt a strange sympathy. An instant bond of some kind, though it’s difficult to explain. Sort of how you feel when you find an old toy you had growing up, one that you thought was lost long ago, but upon finding it buried in your closet a whole flood of emotions and memories pours into you, and you remember what it felt like to be a child.

  I blinked, snapping myself back to reality. You’re in a room of death, I told myself, and I turned to leave.

  Melinda shouldn’t have been waiting in the makeshift doorway. But she was, mouth open, staring at the room of bones.

  “Come on,” I whispered. She crawled back down the hall. I followed, sliding the wooden door shut behind us. When we reached the main room and felt the breeze, my legs suddenly gave out. I sank to the earth, dropped the doll, and just sat there. Exhausted, I looked up through the entrance at the diffused sky.

  Melinda sat down in front of me, grabbed my head, and forced me to look at her. “Listen. Are you okay?” I nodded. “Good,” she said. “Let me take over. Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  Bless that girl. I was toast, for the moment anyway, and needed time to get my head on straight. She laid out a plan. We’d drive to the mountains, somewhere off the 210, in the Los Angeles Crest Mountains, and burn the doll. It sounded simple enough.

  Time to move.

  As I stood, a dark shadow interrupted the moonlight. I looked up, but there wasn’t enough time to glimpse the face. Then there was nothing, because the trap door slammed shut.

  I ran up the step
s and pounded on the door, but then I heard the electric drill, and the screws being ratcheted into place, and I knew we were sealed in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’d never been trapped in the dark before. Like, the real dark. Pitch black, I mean. Once I was on a school field trip and a guide took us into a cave, and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. That was real dark. Like now.

  It took a few minutes for Melinda and me to get our bearings down there. I grabbed and pulled her close, and I didn’t even notice the little friend who was still attached to her shoulder. We screamed until our voices were hoarse. We decided no one could hear us. Better to save our strength.

  We tried to be rational. It had to be Dad who trapped us. Whatever had taken him over—that character—was in charge now.

  A couple hours passed. The heat down there was slowly cooking us. Soon we were stripped to our underwear. I’m glad she can’t see me, I thought, then felt ashamed at thinking that.

  I did some quick calculations. I figured it had been five or six hours since I’d had any water. Not good. Sweating would soon dehydrate me. Food was less of an issue; I was too amped up to eat, anyway. I figured I had a handful of hours before liquids would be a real problem, so I set my mind to figuring out how to escape.

  Melinda, though, had other issues. When the heat settled down on her, she got lethargic. Which meant she was sleepy. Not good. We had to find a way out, and fast.

  I scoured the back room for an exit. I ran my hand over the walls. They were made of plywood, which, if we’d had tools, might not have presented a problem. But I didn’t have anything to use.

  I crawled to the back room. With an icky feeling, I tore one of the leg bones off a skeleton with a couple of yanks and twists. Maybe it would work as a makeshift shovel. I tore another off and handed it to Melinda. Hopefully the hard labor would keep her awake long enough to get out of here.

  But nothing worked. After an hour, we gave up. We had no leverage coming at the wood from below. We really needed a crowbar. I thought about using another bone to shave mine down until we had a flat edge, but bone on bone simply didn’t work like that.

  Melinda collapsed next to the ladder. “How much time until we run out of air, you think?” she asked. I didn’t answer. I just held her, and pretty soon our panting softened.

  Gently, to my shame, we drifted to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I jerked awake and sat up, rubbing the dirt from my face. “Melinda?” I whispered into the dark. “Melinda!”

  No answer. With a sinking feeling, I shined my flashlight around the outer room. She wasn’t there. The door to the inner room was shut.

  I turned to my right. And screamed. Because the doll, the one we’d found down here, was sitting just two feet away, its arms outstretched toward me.

  Shoving it away, I rolled onto my stomach and crawled to the opposite side of the room. I settled, holding the beam of my flashlight on it, waiting for it to move.

  It didn’t move.

  After my heart settled, I checked my watch. I’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. Not enough time for it to get me. I trembled at the thought.

  But, Melinda.

  I called to her again. Still no answer. I went to the inner door and was about to set my hand on the knob, when it turned on its own.

  I backed away. The door creaked open. My flashlight beam wavered. Soon I felt the other wall against my back, and Melinda crawled through the door in front of me and stood.

  Her hair was curly blonde now instead of brown. Like Dad’s, her face was flatter, and glowed like wood stained with expensive lacquer. Her nose had completely receded into her face. It looked more like a drawing of a nose.

  I tracked my light down her body. Her waist had been sucked in, like she’d worn a corset for years. The changes seemed to be more intense on the right side, almost as if they were a wave washing over her.

  Whatever she was, she was not Melinda anymore. She was becoming that thing, that character from the storyboards.

  We didn’t move, just stared at each other. Was she stuck halfway between doll and girl? Was the woman inside her still reeling in her new body?

  She smiled a creepy-friendly smile.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Up above.

  Someone. Up there.

  A shovel. Carving into the dirt.

  Yes, it had to be. I could hear the crunching clearly.

  Who was it? Was Dad digging us out?

  Then, a shout. I could hear my name. Was I dreaming it? No.

  I climbed the ladder and hurled myself against the plywood, banging with my fist. “Mom! Mom, let me out!”

  “Hang on!” she half-yelled, half-whispered, frantically digging more dirt.

  I could have cried at the sound of her voice. I turned back to Melinda. She was still standing there, at the end of the outer room, staring at me, with her strange half-smile. Silently I said goodbye to her, then raised my head to the light.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Baby!” Mom whispered as she helped me out of the ground. Wrapping her arms around my shoulder, she walked me toward the house. “It’s okay, honey, everything’s all right now.”

  “Mom, the dolls—they got to Dad—” I babbled and then broke down crying. Nothing made sense. All I knew was that Mom was here now and she would take care of me and everything would be okay. She’d find a way to make Dad into Dad and Melinda into Melinda, and we’d move and—

  “It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll explain everything.” She opened the door to the house. I shook my head. I don’t want to go in there, you don’t understand—

  “Inside, baby,” she said. “It’s all right now.”

  She sat me at the kitchen table. I was shaking. The room was empty. She brought back a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around my shoulders. Suddenly I was very tired. I wanted to close my eyes. All I could do was accept the blanket, and the tea my mother brought me, and sit with her.

  “Mom,” I said. “When d-did . . .”

  “When did I get back?” she said. “Tonight. I came home early. Drink your tea.”

  I looked at her for the first time. She looked normal. No wooden features. She was my mom. I sipped my tea.

  “Melinda is—”

  “Yes, I know about Melinda. She’s okay. She can’t hurt you, baby. Trust me.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’ll be down in a minute.”

  I croaked. “W-what’s going on?”

  Mom sipped. “Ooh, hot.” She got up and dribbled some honey into the mug, blew on the surface of her drink. She stood with her back to the sink. “Honey,” she said, “I’m tired. All the moving, the jobs. I can’t sell homes forever. I just can’t. I don’t love it, you know? And you have to do what you love.

  “Remember when you were a kid, and your dad would be off directing some big commercial, and we’d play dress-up and pretend we were walking the red carpet at the Oscars?”

  I nodded.

  “Your father and I had a plan, that one day, when he made a big movie, I would quit real estate and do something else. Something exciting. You know I was a model, back before you were born. I was gorgeous.” Her eyes went soft and hazy. “The parties. The champagne. Once I had you, I lost my figure. It never came back.

  “I’m not beautiful the way I used to be. Someone once told me I have what’s called the ‘Beauty Curse.’ See, the problem with beauty is that it fades. Men are most valued in this society for their ideas. Women are most valued for their looks. I’m not happy about that, it’s just a fact. Even celebrities who are slightly ‘larger than normal,’ as they say, well, you’ll notice that they are still talked about in the media as being ‘larger than normal.’ There’s always a story around our looks.

  “Anyway, I’m rambling. I’m going to tell you everything, honey. Would you like that?”

  I nodded.

  Mom set her tea down. “Your father has the most important job of his li
fe right now, and he’s making the most important movie of this century.”

  The door to the kitchen opened gently. Dad walked in wearing a gentle smile, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. He got a glass of water.

  “I told you I was going to speak to her,” Mom said, her volume rising.

  I shrank in my chair. I couldn’t look at him.

  “This is all my fault,” he said to Mom. “Let me tell her. I shouldn’t have suggested we keep this from her when we moved.”

  “She wouldn’t have understood,” Mom said. They turned to each other, ignoring me.

  “She would have when we found the doll. But she found it first, and by then you were out of town. I didn’t feel right saying anything while you were away. I tried to keep it under wraps, but—” He turned to me. “I guess things don’t always go as planned, eh, buckaroo?”

  “What do you mean, before we moved?” I asked. “You knew about the dolls?”

  Dad looked at me with tired eyes. “They’re the reason we moved here, kiddo. To find them.”

  Mom put a hand on Dad’s shoulder and turned to me. “Honey, the company hired your father to bring them this project. This older project. Because, technically, we own it.”

  “But Bill B. owns it! Or, he did,” I blurted out before realizing it. I grew red.

  “Honey,” Mom said calmly, “we are his family. He was my grandfather. Your great-grandfather.”

  No. Couldn’t be.

  “But he was a Nazi!” The words sounded ridiculous, so melodramatic. My head was spinning. I felt dizzy.

  Dad put his hand up as if to calm me. He called outside. “Melinda!”

  The bell on the back door handle rang. Melinda entered, clutching the new doll to her chest. She smiled and walked to my mother, who put an arm around her. Like they were family. Suddenly I felt like an outsider.

  “We’re going to give you a choice,” Dad said to me. “This is going to be the most famous family in America. In the world. Your mom and I made our decision already. She found her doll before she left. Now it’s time for your decision.”