by Ann Hood
“Off with you now,” the Woman in Pink said, shooing them away like they were nothing more than flies.
She opened a door in the Dining Room that led to the narrow servants’ stairway and their apartment.
“Thank you for the tour,” Felix remembered to say.
The Woman in Pink wiggled her fingers at them, then closed the door firmly.
Maisie and Felix stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few moments and pondered the rules of their new “home.” They weren’t allowed to play on the lawn until the last tour ended—and then only if an event wasn’t scheduled for that night. There was also a big calendar of mansion events that hung over their kitchen table. It was the only thing their mother had had time to hang up.
“I hate it here,” Maisie said.
“So do I,” Felix said.
“Nothing to do,” Maisie said, starting up the stairs.
“Nowhere to go,” Felix added, following her.
Maisie and Felix stepped into the family quarters with its plain furniture and paneled walls.
She touched that shard of porcelain again. Usually, she and Felix didn’t keep secrets from each other. But what if she showed it to him and he made her march right back to the Woman in Pink and give it to her? What if he lectured her on right and wrong the way he sometimes did? No, Maisie decided. She would keep it to herself. For now.
In New York, Maisie and Felix had slept in the same room divided by a scrim that their mother had kept from her actress days—a struggling actress, she always said now that she’d put acting behind her. A scrim was a drop curtain that looked opaque in some lights and transparent in others. They had fun playing with the lamps in their bedroom, rearranging them and turning them on and off for effect. But here they each had proper bedrooms that were blandly identical.
Felix lay in bed trying to read, but the noises the house made were too distracting. It creaked. It sighed. It moaned. All he could think of were the things the Woman in Pink had hinted at: ghosts, and worse.
“You awake?” Maisie called from across the hall.
“Yes,” Felix said. He put down his book and put on his glasses.
“Can I come in?” Maisie said.
She didn’t wait for an answer. She just walked in with her curly hair all tangled and her face with crease marks from the waffle pattern on her blanket. The rain had cooled things down, and Maisie wore her favorite Mets polar fleece vest and flannel pajama bottoms. Felix shivered beneath the thin blanket in his faded madras shorts and yellow T-shirt that said CARMINE STREET POOL. He wished he’d bothered to rummage through the warmer clothes still packed in boxes.
Maisie flopped down on the empty bed across from Felix.
“Mom must be having fun, huh?” she asked. “It’s almost ten.”
Felix shrugged.
After their mother had moved into her office on Thames Street that day, the other lawyers had insisted she go out to dinner with them at Café Zelda’s. You don’t mind, do you? she’d asked them when she’d called. In the background they could hear the sounds of people laughing. No, no, they’d insisted, even though they’d wanted her home with them.
“This house,” Felix said as Maisie settled into the other twin bed.
“Noisy,” Maisie said. She missed the noise on Bethune Street, the traffic, the late night sounds of people leaving nearby restaurants, and even the early morning garbage and delivery trucks. But the noises here were different, all creaky and shuddering.
“Scary,” Felix said.
Maisie sighed. “Prison.”
“Prison,” Felix agreed.
Maisie brightened. “Hey,” she said. “Let’s break out.”
“Huh?”
“Or should I say, break in?” Maisie said, laughing.
“Break in?” Felix said, afraid he understood exactly what she meant.
“Why not?” Maisie said, excited.
“Because we’re not allowed, that’s why,” Felix said, hating what a goody-two-shoes he sounded like.
But it was true—his sister liked to break rules, and he liked to follow them. When he listened to her and they got caught, his good intentions did him no good. Like the time their parents had forbidden them from taking home the classroom guinea pig, Jelly Bean, over Christmas break in second grade, and Maisie had convinced him they could hide Jelly Bean in their room and no one would notice. Their mother had noticed all right and had screamed, terrified: I said no rodents in this house! And I meant no rodents!
“Our relatives built this monstrosity, right? It’s technically ours, isn’t it?”
“Mom said no,” Felix said, knowing it was too late. Maisie was already standing, and her eyes were twinkling. That picture of Great-Aunt Maisie flashed through Felix’s mind. His sister would not be happy if he pointed out their resemblance, but he saw it as clear as anything.
“We know the doors are all locked,” she said, pacing, her face scrunched up with concentration. “But there must be another way in.”
Maisie stopped pacing, a wicked look of glee in her eyes and a satisfied grin on her face. “Or I could lower you down the dumbwaiter, and you could unlock one of the doors for me and let me in.”
“No way,” Felix said. “You know I’m afraid of heights. Why don’t I lower you down the dumb dumbwaiter?”
“Because you’re smaller than me. You’ll fit better.” Maisie loved that she was seven minutes older and almost three inches taller than Felix.
“That thing hasn’t been used in a million years. What if it doesn’t work and I get trapped in there? Or worse?”
“The Gilded Age,” Maisie said, imitating the Woman in Pink’s trill, “was from 1865 to 1901. So it’s only, like, a hundred years old.”
“Great,” Felix said, following his sister to the kitchen despite his better judgment.
Maisie opened the narrow door and peered inside.
“Looks safe,” she said.
Felix tried to decide what he was more frightened of: getting into the thing, traveling down three flights in it, or running through the big, empty mansion at night to let his sister in.
“Maisie?” he said, taking one tentative step inside. “Do you think kids did this a hundred years ago?”
“Definitely,” she said. “I bet Great-Aunt Maisie did it!”
She gave him a shove, and he stumbled all the way in. The air was stale, reminding Felix of the smell in their apartment in New York after his father smoked one of his forbidden cigars. That comforted him a little, but he still didn’t move his foot enough to let Maisie close the door. Felix looked around. The walls were the yellow of fancy mustard, with long cracks here and there and lots of peeling paint. The floor had black-and-gray squares with scuff marks on them.
“Bon voyage,” Maisie said cheerfully, catching him off guard and pushing the door shut.
“Hey!” Felix said, pulling his foot in fast, but she was already pressing the button and sending the dumbwaiter—and Felix—downward. The dumbwaiter groaned, then began its slow descent.
He was relieved it was not too tight in there. Plenty of room for a cart of food, he supposed. Felix tried to imagine the fancy breakfasts that had ridden in the thing. Maybe croissants and pain au chocolat like their father used to bring home on Saturday mornings. The now-familiar ache for the past filled him, and Felix wrapped his arms around himself.
Slightly short of breath, he tried to pretend he was somewhere more interesting than a narrow dumbwaiter in an old mansion. But it didn’t help. He was right here, and it was dark and airless and scary.
“Maisie?” he called.
To his surprise, her voice came to him as clear as anything. “We’re going straight to that room with all the stuff in it.”
“The Treasure Chest?” he yelled back to her.
This time she didn’t answer. Despite how stuffy it was in the dumbwaiter, goose bumps traveled up Felix’s arms. Would this thing ever reach the bottom?
Right then, the dumbwaiter stopped with a small thud. Felix opened his eyes. Out the small window on the door he saw nothing but the shaft. He hadn’t landed. He was stuck somewhere in the middle. He remembered how his parents forbade them from playing in elevators with their friends who lived in high-rises. Elevators look innocent enough, his mother had told him, but do you know how many kids get hurt goofing around in them? Now here he was in something even creakier than an elevator. At least elevators had those inspection stickers in them. He was certain no one had inspected this thing lately. Possibly ever.
“Maisie?” he called again.
She still didn’t answer. He didn’t like being in here, and he didn’t like his sister taking off before he even reached the bottom. How would she know which door he opened for her if she’d gone somewhere? Felix shivered. What if he was stuck in here for hours?
Suddenly the dumbwaiter jerked sharply, paused, then hiccupped back to life.
Felix didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he started moving again. If he made it out of here, he was going to tell his sister that he would never listen to her stupid ideas again.
Finally the dumbwaiter landed, more gently than Felix had expected. He pushed the door open with trembling, sweaty hands.
When he peered out, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He blinked and stared out. He was in the large Kitchen with the wooden cabinets filled with fancy china and deep sinks and copper pots and pans. The Woman in Pink had told them that the walls were covered with white subway tiles like the ones in the 14th Street subway station near their old apartment. That had sent a shot of nostalgia through Felix then. Now they gleamed eerily in the one dim light that was turned on.
Felix stepped out carefully, trying to remember the layout of the house. The Kitchen was technically in the Basement, and he had to figure out how to get upstairs to The Treasure Chest. The Treasure Chest. Even thinking of it made him shudder. He remembered how nervous the Woman in Pink got when they looked inside that room. In his opinion, anything hidden behind a secret stairway had a good reason to stay hidden. Maybe he could convince Maisie to explore a different room. Like the Ballroom, with its panels imported from France—or was it Italy? Felix couldn’t keep all the boring facts straight—and its chandelier made of Venetian glass—or was it Waterford crystal? The Woman in Pink had thrown around both of those things like they actually meant something to two twelve-year-olds.
Or they could slide down the banister of the Grand Staircase, the way their mother had told them Great-Aunt Maisie had done. He thought again of that picture of her as a little girl. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t believe that the old woman he knew had ever been that girl. What would she do if she were here right now? he wondered. If that other Great-Aunt Maisie, the young one, could take his hand and slide down the banister with him? Or run from bedroom to bedroom and jump on all the beds? That would be fun, Felix thought, imagining the clouds of dust that would fly out of those untouched bedspreads. If he could meet that little girl, that long ago Maisie, he might feel differently about the poor old one stuck in that assisted living place. Wouldn’t it be something if The Treasure Chest could do something like that?
From behind him, the dumbwaiter interrupted his thoughts by making a strange and frightening noise like it was moving. Felix held his breath. Why had he listened to Maisie? He knew better. Yes, there was definitely something in there, and it was definitely moving. Felix tried to run, but he felt like one of those marble statues that dotted the lawn.
The door of the dumbwaiter flew open, and Felix screamed a loud and strangled scream.
The Letter
“It’s just me,” Maisie said, unfolding herself and climbing out of the dumbwaiter. “I called it back up and jumped in.”
Felix still couldn’t find his voice, even as he watched his sister walk toward him, shaking her head in disgust.
“I got bored waiting up there,” she said.
Apparently, she wasn’t bored anymore. Her eyes shone in a way that Felix knew meant trouble.
“Want to go and slide down the banister?” he finally managed to say. He imitated sliding with his hand, swooshing it through the air.
Maisie laughed. “No way. We’re going straight to The Treasure Chest. Something exciting goes on in there, and we’re going to find out what it is.”
Felix thought of that hidden stairway and the red velvet ropes that hung in the room’s doorway. Ropes were meant to keep people out.
“Maybe we couldn’t go in because it’s dangerous,” Felix said, racing to catch up to his sister who was already heading for the Kitchen stairs.
“Loose floorboards!” he called to her back. “Crumbling ceilings! That kind of thing.”
Of course, she ignored him and ran up the stairs that led to the Dining Room.
Felix had no choice. He ran up them, too. But when he reached the Dining Room, Maisie had already disappeared. The table set with its fancy china and silver looked creepy in the darkness. Quickly, Felix scurried out of there and into the Grand Ballroom, which was even creepier still. Earlier today, the marble had been all shiny and pretty, and the giant chandelier had sparkled. But now, as he walked across the floor, his footsteps echoed eerily, and the room had a distinct chill that made him think of ghosts.
“Hello?” Felix called. His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged, empty hallway. “Maisie?”
Felix took tentative steps toward the Grand Staircase.
“Maisie?”
There was silence. And then her voice, far off and small. “Come on, slowpoke! I’m almost there.”
Felix walked cautiously through the dark, passing room after room. The Ladies’ Drawing Room, the Cigar Room, the Gentlemen’s Waiting Room—each distorted and shadowy in the moonlight. His knees were trembling so much that they knocked into each other as he climbed the Grand Staircase. He paused at Great-Aunt Maisie’s picture hanging there and, in that instant, Felix could have sworn her eyes actually twinkled. He could have sworn the girl in the picture actually smiled at him. A shiver ran straight up his arms.
He blinked. Twice. No, he decided, the picture was just a picture. Relieved, he practically ran the rest of the way up the stairs. At the top, in the hallway, the wall gaped open, revealing the secret stairway that led up to The Treasure Chest. What if his sister had gone up there and something terrible had happened to her? He tried to remember what the Woman in Pink had told them. Strange noises? Transparent women floating around?
“Are you okay?” Felix called from the bottom of the stairs.
When she didn’t answer him, he took a deep breath and slowly climbed the narrow stairway. Maisie had unclipped the red velvet rope, and Felix saw her standing inside The Treasure Chest, her face full of wonder.
“Look at all this stuff,” she said.
Felix took another deep breath and stepped over the threshold, half expecting an alarm to go off.
But instead the room was hushed as if it were holding its breath. The walls were a blue that made Felix think of the ocean, and the lighter blue ceiling had puffy white clouds painted on it. That combination gave him the feeling that he was at sea or floating. Despite only a bit of moonlight coming in through the Tiffany glass window, The Treasure Chest seemed to be bathed in a soft amber light. Felix glanced around but couldn’t find the source of the light. A massive desk, smack in the middle, dominated. Bookshelves lined each wall. In one corner stood a large globe on a pedestal. There were tables here and there, but every surface of them and the desk was covered with stuff: clocks, stones, small boxes, feathers, papers, buttons, hats, seashells, animal pelts, rings, china cups, quill pens, a compass, paper of all kinds—parchment, papyrus
, lined notebook, typing, wallpaper, sandpaper—chunks of jade and amethyst.
“She said he was a collector,” Felix said.
“But why would he want something like this?” Maisie said, picking up a feather.
“Maybe we shouldn’t touch anything,” Felix said.
To his relief, she put it down.
But then she picked up something else, a faded scroll from the desk. Carefully, she unrolled it. The paper was old and stiff and about twice the size of a sheet of computer paper.
“What is it?” Felix said.
“A list of some kind,” Maisie said, frowning.
“Like a shopping list?”
When Maisie didn’t answer him, Felix decided to look for himself. He reached over and tried to snatch the paper from his sister’s hand before she could resist. But when he grabbed onto it, Maisie yanked it back. Their eyes met across the desk, their hands clutching the paper.
The room filled with the deafening sounds of gunfire. The air smelled of sulfur and smoke. Felix tried to let go of the paper, but he couldn’t.
It was as if his hand was superglued to it. They were each aware of being lifted ever so slightly off the ground. Maisie’s toes barely reached the carpet.
From outside the stained-glass window came the sound of their mother’s car on the long driveway, Great-Aunt Maisie’s old blue 1967 Mustang that was in desperate need of a new muffler.
Startled, Maisie let go of the paper. As soon as she did, the air smelled like it usually did, all musty and mothbally. She and Felix were both jolted back down onto the carpet.
“Were we just . . . um . . . in the air?” Felix said.
“Sort of.” Maisie gulped.
“Like . . . about to fly or something?” Felix asked. His heart beat so hard and so loud that he thought he might be having a heart attack. People could actually get scared to death, couldn’t they?
“I don’t know,” Maisie said. Her eyes darted around the room as if she might find an explanation. Her heart was beating hard and loud, too, but she wasn’t afraid. Instead, Maisie was more excited than she’d ever been in her whole life.