CHAPTER SEVEN

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The pant leg was gray. It shifted, shuffled, and then stood still. The whistling slowed and stopped. A thick hand, wiry with black hair, reached down and slid a long envelope into Henry’s box, next to the old postcard. Then the pant leg moved on, just one step judging from the click of the shoes, but out of Henry’s range of vision.

Henry did not wonder if he was dreaming. He was too surprised for that. Instead, he stared, hardly breathing, into the yellow place. He could still hear the whistling, sometimes faint and distant, sometimes closer. He could hear the clicking of shoes as the pant legs walked about, but he only saw them walk by once more. The yellow place was not something that would have normally intrigued Henry, and a man’s pant leg never would have. But seeing them just through a small box in his bedroom wall, which he knew to be an exterior wall facing the barn and miles of fields, made them far more interesting. And so Henry stared for quite a long time, at nothing much, which should never have been there.

When a boy finds a spider that isn’t moving, he generally stops to examine it. If it persists in its lack of motion, even if it looks like it might be dangerous, he will poke it with a stick, just to see what it does. If it’s a snake, he might use a longer stick or even a well-tossed rock. Henry was in a similar situation. He was looking at something more surprising than most people imagine possible. And yet it wasn’t doing much.

Henry didn’t have a stick. He didn’t have a rock. So he reached up and pushed the long envelope back through the box and heard it drop to the floor on the other side. The whistling stopped. The yellow place was silent for a moment, and then the shoes began clicking toward him. Half a pant leg came into view. The leg inside it bent. A hand passed by. It traveled to the floor, then passed back the other way. It was holding the envelope.

“Hmm,” a voice said. Henry caught his breath as a face, cocked sideways, came into view and looked straight at him. It was a man’s face, long and thin, with a biggish gray mustache. The man peered inside the box while the hand came up and reslotted the envelope. Then the man stood, the whistling began once more, and the feet clicked their way elsewhere. Henry began breathing again.

It did not take Henry very long to become uncomfortable, hunched over with his face filling the small door. He tried shifting his weight, sitting instead of kneeling, but his neck kept kinking and his back ached. Finally, he pushed the sheet of posters to the far end of the room and slid off the bed onto the floor. He sat facing the cupboards, with his back against the opposite wall and his feet under his bed. From this position, he stared at the little rectangle of yellow light. But he didn’t stare for long, because now that he was finally comfortable, he fell asleep.

When he woke, his right cheek was resting on his shoulder, his neck was kinked, and the light was gone. Henry hit his shin on the bottom of his bed standing up, yelped, then crawled onto his bed and felt for the small door. When he found it, he pulled out the long envelope and the postcard and dropped them on his bed. Then he sat and stared at the darkness, wondering what he should do next. He put his hand in the small post office box and felt around. Then he reached in deeper. It was only about a foot deep, and his hand quickly found the open back. He had an idea. With his left hand, he felt around for the latch on the door to the wind and trees. It slid easily, and the door swung open, letting in its earthy smell. That door was just above the little mailbox; a two-inch strip of wood was all that separated them.

Leaving his right hand in the mailbox, Henry leaned to the side and put his left hand in the bigger cupboard. He waddled as close to the wall as he could get, until he thought both of his arms had to be sticking out the other side of the cupboards. Then, resting his chin on the wall, he felt for his hands. His right hand waggled around in the air, touching nothing. His left squished against something soft and damp. His hands were in two very different places, but his mind knew that they ought to be touching just on the other side of the wall. Adjusting to push farther into the mailbox, he bent his arm and reached as high as he could. His fingers twiddled around and felt an envelope. He had found the back of another post office box. He reached to the side and found another one.

Henry pulled his arms back through and rubbed his hands together. The back of the mailbox was apparently in a wall in a post office somewhere. The front was in his bedroom. The back of the other cupboard was in a forest or somewhere with trees. The front was in his bedroom. His left hand had felt moss and dirt in some place where it had just rained. His right had been in a post office, fingering other people’s mail. His body was in his bedroom.

Henry sat in the dark for a long time, thinking thoughts that led nowhere and asking questions he couldn’t answer. Eventually, breathing in the air that crawled through his wall from some other place, he slept again. He slept with both little doors open. And while he slept, he dreamed.

Henry stood barefoot in a green place. His toes curled and uncurled, digging into wet, thick moss. And there were trees. Enormous trees. It was a forest, but the trees were far apart, at least one hundred feet in most places. The canopy intermingled above him, sprawling out from the straight-trunked, smooth-skinned towers that had waited to throw out branches until they had reached well into the sky.

Henry was on a gentle slope, almost flat where he stood. But below him he could see the tops of trees. This and the coldness of the air told him he was on a mountain. Henry looked up the hill behind him, at the green, mossed earth and the trunks of great trees. He watched himself walk. He was not controlling his walk or his pace or what he looked at. He was simply following along as he wandered through the dream. He could feel the water squeeze out of the moss between his toes. He could smell the cold air and feel it in his lungs. He wanted to stop and run his hands along the smooth bark of the trees, to grip a great wooden belly with his arms. Instead, he walked and soon found himself in a clearing surrounded only by grass and sky. The slope rose only a little farther, and there at the top, a great rectangular slab of stone lay flat. It was almost as tall as Henry, and its edges were rounded.

Henry watched his hand reach out. The stone had been smooth once. Now moss and time had roughed its skin. Henry left his hand on its surface as he walked all the way around. On the other side grew the last tree.

This tree was thicker than those on the mountain’s slopes, and not as tall. Its lowest branches were as broad as those on most trees he had ever seen. It was an old tree and looked as if it was dying. At the base of the trunk gaped a wide crack. Inside, the floor was all earth and rot. The wind was stronger on the top of the mountain and poured constantly through the old branches and their leaves.

Then Henry saw the dog. It was black and very large. It rushed up to the ancient tree and tried to force its head into the crack, pawing and scratching. Then it leapt away and ran to the slab of stone and scraped at the earth along its base. When it stood again, it hesitated, flaring its nostrils. It looked at Henry, or at where Henry was standing. The dog was huge, like a mastiff or a Dane, and with two steps it stood directly in front of Henry, its head nearly as wide as his waist. It cocked its head and smelled. Then it crouched and ran back to the tree.

It didn’t make sense. Henry felt that he belonged there on that hill, that he knew the dog. His sleeping mind groped and grasped at old memories and found nothing it could hold.

Then the dog turned to him and said in a soft, feminine voice, “I don’t think we should tell him. It’s not real news and won’t accomplish anything tonight, anyhow.”

The dream swirled. Henry couldn’t see the tree, but the stone was still there.

“They’re his parents. Why would I be keepin’ secrets about his parents?” said another voice.

“It’s not a secret. It’s just not helpful,” the dog said.

“I know more than he does, and I don’t see how that’s right.”

“Well, you’ll always know more than he does.”

“What are you saying?”

“Frank, they’re not even his parents. Are you going to tell him that, too?”

Henry opened his eyes. He was on his bed, in his bedroom’s darkness. The voices were very low. He could just make them out.

“If you tell him, at least wait until morning. It wouldn’t do any good talking to him now.” There was silence. Then Frank muttered something Henry couldn’t hear.

“Do you smell something?” Dotty asked. “The air feels crisp.”

“No,” Frank said. “I don’t. The air feels like air to me.”

“Okay, then,” Dotty answered. “Come back down to bed.” Henry could hear footsteps and realized Frank had been just outside his doors. It sounded like Dotty was still standing on the stairs. The creaking began, and Henry knew they were both walking back down.

It was a strange thing for Henry to hear. But he was more immediately relieved that Uncle Frank hadn’t come into his room. Henry sat up and shut the cupboard doors. Then he turned on his lamp and put the sheet of posters back on the wall. When he was done, he curled up at the top of his bed and turned off his light.

Some of his dream was disappearing, already losing itself in his mind, but he remembered the dog talking, and he remembered what it had said. He remembered waking and what his aunt and uncle had said.

His parents weren’t really his parents.

Henry was almost relieved. He still hoped that they would be all right. But he wouldn’t mind if they didn’t come back until he was old enough to go to college. As long as they were comfortable.

 

Henry woke up and rolled over. Someone was knocking on his door.

“Come in,” he said.

Frank stepped in and sat down on the bed.

“Hi, Uncle Frank.” Henry sat up and yawned, as nervous as he was tired. He tried not to look at his posters.

“Mornin’, Henry.” Frank wasn’t looking at Henry. He was looking through the bedroom doors, down the attic, and out the window at the end. “I was gonna tell you somethin’ last night, but Dots thought I should wait until mornin’. So here I am.”

Henry waited. When Frank didn’t say anything else, he tried to help things along. “What is it?” he asked.

“Oh, well, yesterday a man calls up real late. He’s with the government, and he tells us that your parents are alive. Been a ransom demand or some such.”

“Oh,” Henry said. “Is that it?”

“Yeah. Your aunt Dots didn’t think it was a big deal. She thought it was awful late for someone to call us up just to state the obvious. Personally, I was surprised. Wouldn’t have shocked me a bit if they’d knocked Ursula over the head. Amazes me they’ve kept her alive this long.” Frank rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved. “I guess there’s money in it for ’em. How long’s it been now? A month?”

“About. They told me a couple weeks before school was out.”

“Hmm,” Frank said, and he just sat there.

“Uncle Frank?” Henry asked.

“Yeah?”

“Are they really my parents?”

“Nope,” Frank said, and kept staring out the window.

“Oh,” Henry said.

“Did you wet the bed?” Frank asked.

“No.” Henry blushed and swung his legs onto the floor.

“Strange,” Frank said. “Feelin’ a little damp in my seat.”

“Yeah, there was a spill.”

“Anyway…” Frank slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Thought you should know. Your aunt and I are heading into the city. Penny and Anastasia are comin’ along. We should be back in time for a late dinner. I’m sure you got plenty to do. Ever use a computer? Got solitaire on mine, if you like. Don’t tell the girls I let you.”

“You’re leaving us here by ourselves?”

“You and Henrietta,” Frank said. “She wanted to stay. Said you would, too. Do you wanna come?”

“No. I’ll be fine. But isn’t that neglect? Can’t you get into trouble?”

“Don’t know why we would. Your aunt’s already put sandwiches in the fridge for the two of you and left instructions for the casserole if we’re late comin’ back.”

Frank stepped out of Henry’s room and then glanced back, looking over the wall of posters.

“Don’t get into too much trouble,” he said, and headed for the stairs.

Henry tried to smile, then he lay back down. A few minutes later, he heard the truck erupt into life and the noise of spraying gravel as it pulled away.

Henry didn’t feel like getting up, and so he didn’t. It wasn’t long before he heard Henrietta running up the stairs.

“Up, up, up!” Henrietta said, jumping on his bed. Her loose curls seemed to fill the room. “Everybody’s gone.”

“Go out,” Henry said. “I have to get dressed.”

She did, but she kept talking from the attic.

“Mom and Dad were going to take us, too, but I said I didn’t want to and that I thought you wanted to go to Zeke’s, so they left us. Now we can figure out the doors, and we won’t even have to be quiet.”

“I got the mailbox open last night.”

“What?” Henrietta came back into the room while Henry was trying to shove his head through the sleeve of his shirt. “What was in it?”

“Some mail. I haven’t looked at it yet.” He straightened his shirt out and pulled it on.

“Mail?” she asked. “Why would there be mail?” She picked up his rumpled blanket.

“It’s a mailbox,” Henry said.

Henrietta ignored him. “Where is it?”

“Henrietta,” Henry said. “Last night was really weird.”

She dropped his blanket and looked at him. The two of them sat on his bed, and he told her everything, about the yellow room and the man’s face and pushing the envelope back so it fell and reaching his arms through the cupboards and not being able to touch on the other side. “This hand is still muddy,” he finished, and held out his palm.

Henrietta was impressed. “You could see his face?”

“Yep.”

“And he had a mustache?”

“Yep.”

“And you could see through into a yellow room?”

“Yep.”

“Could he see you?”

“I don’t think so. He stared right at me but didn’t seem to notice.”

“And you weren’t dreaming?”

“Nope. I dreamed later.”

Henrietta whistled through her teeth, then reached out and touched the poster-covered wall of cupboards.

“They’re magic for sure. I didn’t really think they would be. I wonder how we go through.”

“Go through?”

“Yeah. The whole point of magic doors is to try and go through them to somewhere else.”

“But they’re too small.”

“Where’s the mail?” Henrietta said. “Let’s read the mail. Do you need breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay. The mail was on the bed,” Henry said.

“It might have slid off.”

Henrietta found the mail, and Henry put on his socks. Then the two of them headed down to the kitchen. Henrietta grabbed the milk while Henry picked his cereal. While Henry chewed, Henrietta examined the first piece of mail. It was the postcard. The picture was a black-and-white photo of a lake and a large boat. The boat was strange. People stood along a second-story deck, around three smokestacks. A huge paddle wheel was attached to one end. Unlike on the old American riverboats, the paddle was attached to the front beneath a swooping hull that looked like it belonged on a Viking ship.

Henrietta showed it to Henry, then turned it over. Everything was written in a tall and narrow cursive. She read slowly.


Sola 16

Simon,

The children are both ill, and the wind nips a bit at my thin bones. I shall give you electric catfish next time you visit. Come soon.

Love from Lake Tinsil,
Gerty


The two of them looked at each other.

“Wow,” Henrietta said.

“What does it mean?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know. It’s a letter. Grandpa’s, probably. His name was Simon.” Henrietta squinted. “The picture looks old.”

“It says something else on the bottom, only it’s printed.” Henry leaned over his cousin. “‘The proud Valkr in her mother waters.’ Is that the boat? The Valkr?”

“Must be,” Henrietta said. “Which one do you want to do next?”

Two envelopes rested on the table in front of Henrietta. Henry recognized the long one he had pushed into the mailroom. The other was nearly square.

“But there were only two,” he said.

“I know that,” Henrietta said. “Which one do you want to read first?”

“No,” Henry said. “There was only the postcard and the long envelope.” He reached over and took both. “Where did you get this one?” he said, holding up the square envelope.

Henrietta shrugged. “With the other ones. They were all between your mattress and the wall.”

The square envelope was milk white and sealed with a glob of what looked like green wax. The long envelope was cream-colored and had handwriting on the back. The writing was tight and slanted, almost like calligraphy. Henry read it out loud, but slowly. “‘To the Master of the Seventy-seventh Box, Seventh Row of Lionesse, DX of Byzanthamum.’ I don’t think that’s a proper address. What’s the address here?”

“Eleven Grange Road,” Henrietta said. “It got delivered. Just open it.”

Henry slid his finger under the flap. The paper tore easily, and he pulled out a stiff folded sheet. The handwriting inside was the same. He squinted at it and began reading.


Midsummer

Sir,

In the course of our contempora ritualisms, we have discerned that certane of the lost byways have been both aired et stirred. We need not explain the means of our discernimentata, as you must be no strange face to our scientistics et were no doubt awarned that you had notified us of your presence as ripely as you had done so.

Former or freshe, master of the box you are. You fanger-grase the compassi, et you must kendle our intentions. Wake the old daughter of the second sire. We will not live for less. Do this et feel your freedoms breathe. Fail, et our order will sophistri in strength. See, the blud-eagle is no hen.

Darius,
First amung the Lastborn Magi,
W.D. of Byzanthamum


Henry put the letter down and looked at Henrietta.

“I don’t think you read that right,” she said. “Give it to me.”

Henry slid her the letter and dribbled soggy cereal off his spoon while he watched her read.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Henrietta said. “Whoever wrote it must have been nuts.”

“You don’t think it’s about us?” Henry asked. “I could be the master of the box. It’s in my room.”

Henrietta raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

“What?” Henry asked.

“It’s in our house,” she said.

“Yeah…?”

“You’re not the master of anything, Henry.” She looked down at the letter. “And it wouldn’t matter if you were. This is total gibberish. Whoever the master of the box is, he’s supposed to wake up the daughter of a second sire. A sire is a king, right? Do you know any kings, Henry?”

“Maybe,” Henry said, stirring his cereal. “You wouldn’t know.”

Henrietta laughed. “Right. I’m going to open the other one.” She picked up the square envelope and turned it over so the seal was up. The green glob shone in the light like glass. It had been stamped with a signet, and a thick lip bulged up around the image of a man’s head. He was bearded, and his eyes were blank, pupil-less. Leaves grew in his beard and out of his nose and mouth. Vines crawled from his ears and were wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

“That’s a little creepy,” Henrietta said. She tried to slide her finger along the paper to pop the seal off, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried to tear the paper but couldn’t so much as wrinkle it. She dropped the envelope on the table and stood up. “I’m getting scissors,” she said.

Henry shifted in his seat. “Don’t bother,” he said. “They won’t work.” He looked up at her. “It’s just like Grandfather’s door. You won’t be able to get it open.”

He took the envelope in his hands and ran his fingers over the paper.

“I’m still getting scissors.” Henrietta turned away. She didn’t take a step. A pop like the sound of a knuckle cracking had come from behind her.

She turned around. “What was that?” she asked.

“Um…,” Henry said. “I touched the seal.”

“What?”

“The seal. On the letter. I touched it.” Henry pointed toward the table.

The seal had divided through the green man’s forehead, around his nose, and down through his beard.

“It’s broken,” Henrietta said. “Split right in half.” She picked up the envelope and tried to open it. The paper wouldn’t move.

“I think it’s for me,” Henry said.

Henrietta looked at him, looked at the seal, and then handed him the envelope.

It was all one piece of thick paper, not an envelope at all, and it unfolded easily in Henry’s hands.

He held the paper out. “Do you want to see, too?” he asked.

“Read it out loud,” Henrietta said, dropping back into a chair. Her hand snuck up to her mouth, and she began chewing on her thumbnail.

Henry looked over the paper, more than a little surprised at what he saw. The writing wasn’t writing at all; it had been typed. And typed on what looked to be a very old typewriter. Every T and K stuck out high. It was much easier to read than the other letter.


Issuance from the Central Committee of Faeren for the Prevention of Mishap

(District R.R.K.)


Composed and Adopted under Emergency Guidelines

(Book of Faeren, VI. iii)

Delivered via the Island Hill of Badon Chapter

(District A.P.)


To Whom We May Concern:

Testimony has been presented in the Hill of the Faeren (District R.R.K.) regarding certain gates that were once created without authority and were frivolously exploited to the great detriment of five of our most ancient districts and two civilizations. Said gates were believed to have been destroyed, and/or/perhaps severed or sealed.

Said testimony in said hill of aforementioned district established the following:

(a) That gates had either not been destroyed, nor severed nor sealed, or that gates had been destroyed or severed or sealed but have been rebuilt, repaired, or opened; (b) That beside said gates sleeps a male child, timid in all habit, who both snoreth and whimpereth in his slumber (henceforth: Whimpering Child); (c) That Whimpering Child is reprehensible and a shame to all who pursue wisdom or have earned gray hairs or fleshy scars, struggling to prevent mishap in the service of this district, past, present, and fut.

Having found the testimony sound, the Central Committee of Faeren for the Prevention of Mishap (District R.R.K.) issues the following notification, to be delivered by members of the Island Hill of Badon Chapter (District A.P.), who provided above testimony:

That if Whimpering Child through ignorant or malicious meddling shall unearth, unbind, or release evils long-defeated or evils young and undefeated, he shall be deemed fully responsible by the CCFPM of this district and be destroyed forthwith.

Let Whimpering Child beware.

When the seal has been broken, notice shall be considered given.

Notice has been given.

Ralph Radulf
Chair CCFPM

(District R.R.K.)

C and A under EG

(per B.F. VI. iii)


Henry looked up at his cousin. “Someone knows I found the cupboards.”

“You don’t know that,” Henrietta said. “It doesn’t have to be about you.” She forced a smile. “You do whimper, though.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Henry said. “Somebody’s been watching me. That’s freaky.”

Henrietta shrugged, but she slipped her thumbnail back between her teeth.

Henry ate his cereal, and the two hurried back upstairs. They tore down the poster wallpaper and stood by his bed staring at the doors.

The doors stared back.

“I want to look in the little mailbox first,” Henrietta said. “But then I think we should just bang on them and see if they’re stuck, like the first one was.”

Henry gave Henrietta the key to the mailbox. She pushed her hair out of her face and hunkered down so she could unlock the box and look through the little black space. Henry stood on his bed and used the butt end of the chisel to rap on all the metal latches and slides.

“Are you sure it was yellow in here?” Henrietta asked.

“Yes. But I think it might be in a different time zone. That’s why it’s dark now.”

Henrietta sat up. “I’m going to come watch with you tonight. I hope Anastasia and Penelope sleep hard. Have you tried all the ones near the floor? I want to see those. Let’s pull the bed back.”

Henry got off the bed, and the two of them pulled it as far away from the wall as they could, which was only about a foot and a half. Henrietta pulled a rubber band out of her pocket and began twisting her hair back into a ponytail. “I like that one by the floor,” she said. “The black one.” The door was about nine inches square and extremely dark. The dust from the plaster stood out against it like chalk on a blackboard.

“Are you sure? You don’t think it looks sad?”

“No. It looks magic.”

“But it’s black.”

Henrietta smiled. “That’s why it looks magic. It’s more ebony, anyway. That’s a nicer black.”

Henry looked at the black cupboard more closely. For some reason, he had avoided looking at it before. Of course, it had been late and he had been tired when he first chipped the plaster off it, but he hadn’t really liked it then, moving on quickly and not looking back. He didn’t know why.

“Did you try it?” Henrietta asked.

Now that she’d asked, Henry knew he hadn’t.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

Henrietta looked at him. “Well, try it now.”

Henry didn’t want to. In the center of the door was a very small metal knob. He reached down and felt it. It was cold. He tried to turn it.

“It won’t turn,” he said, and stood back up.

“Is it supposed to?” Henrietta asked. She squeezed past Henry, draped herself over the bed, gripped the small knob, and pulled. The door came off in her hand. A gold chain attached to the back rattled out behind the door.

Henrietta looked surprised. “I got it open,” she said.

Henry desperately wanted to leave the room. “I don’t think it’s a good door at all,” he whispered. A lump was forming in his gut. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Henrietta wasn’t listening. With her other hand, she pulled on the chain.

“It’s attached inside the cupboard,” she said. “The whole thing just comes off and sticks back on. Oh, look at this.” She slid farther off the bed and reached into the dark opening.

Henry threw up on the floor beside the cupboards. Then he passed out.

 

When he came to, he felt much better. Henrietta was sitting on the bed looking down at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You threw up on the floor. I dropped an old towel over it. You can clean it up later.”

“I don’t like that cupboard,” Henry said. He was between his bed and the cupboard wall. He didn’t try to sit up. “It made me sick. Did I pass out?”

“Yeah. You were still breathing, so I wasn’t worried. Anastasia used to hold her breath until she passed out all the time.”

“Did you close the cupboard?”

“Yes. I don’t think it was the cupboard, though. I still like it. Look what was inside.” She held up a key. It was much bigger than the last one, and older, too, a skeleton key. “I think it might be the key to Grandfather’s bedroom. Dad has other keys like it, and they look like this. I waited for you to wake up to try it.”

Henry propped himself up. A ratty green towel sat in a lump at his feet. “But why would Grandfather’s key be in there?” he asked. “The doors were plastered way too long ago. You’d remember if it had only been two years.”

“Could be more than one key. Plus, they’re magic cupboards. If you can see a mailman’s face in your wall, then I don’t think a key is that big a deal.”

“I don’t think a key will work. I think something is keeping it shut.”

“Well, let’s try.” Henrietta stood up. Henry stood up after her, wondering if he would be sick again. He looked back at the towel.

“It’s just a little puke and the towel kind of hides the smell,” Henrietta said. “Come on.”

The two of them pushed the bed out of the way, then walked down the attic stairs and around the landing. They stepped over the hole in the floor and the tangled and shredded carpet and stood before the old and now-defaced door.

“You do it,” Henrietta said, and held out the key.

“You found it,” Henry said.

“Yeah, but I want you to do it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think you should.”

Henry took the key and found the hole in the wood, which had once been protected by a brass cover plate. He stuck the key in and twisted. It caught on something, and then clicked. He stepped back.

“There’s not a knob,” he said.

“Push it.”

Henry reached out and touched the mulched surface of the door. He pushed. The door swung wide open without a sound.

“Oh my goodness,” Henrietta said. The two of them peered in.

The large bed was made. A clock on the nightstand ticked beside an open book, face down to save someone’s place. Behind that was a clear glass vase, with fresh flowers. One of the windows was open, and the curtain ghosted in the breeze.

“Are they fake?” Henrietta asked.

“What?”

She pointed. “The flowers. In the vase by the bed.”

“Doesn’t look like it. There’s water in the vase.” Henry stepped forward.

“Don’t go in, Henry,” Henrietta said.

“Why?”

“There shouldn’t be flowers. Grandfather died two years ago, and the door’s been locked the whole time. There shouldn’t be flowers. And look, the window’s open. The window isn’t supposed to be open. It’s always shut from the outside.”

Henry looked around the room. “The flowers have some brown spots.”

“But they’re not dry. And where’s the dust?” Henrietta leaned into the doorway, nervously pulling at her ponytail. “Grandfather?” she asked. “Are you there?” She stepped back on the landing.

“I think we should go in,” Henry said.

Henrietta didn’t answer. Henry stepped across the threshold. He looked around.

“Anything?” Henrietta asked.

“He’s not here,” Henry said. “Just lots of books.”

“Look behind the door,” Henrietta said. She was biting a nail.

Henry did and found a purple robe hanging on a peg. He stood very still, staring at it.

“What?” Henrietta asked. “What’s back there?”

“I’ve seen…,” Henry began, but a wall went up in his mind. The robe was just purple. And dirty, and long. Irritated, Henry reached out and clenched the fabric in a fist. He threw himself against the block in his mind.

Henrietta stepped into the room and looked at him. Her face was worried.

“Henry?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Henry let go of the robe. He licked his lips. “Was Grandfather short?” he asked. “I had a dream—maybe—where someone was wearing this purple thing. A short old man. Coming out of the bathroom.”

Henrietta stared at him. “Grandfather was tall. Really tall. You saw someone in the bathroom?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “Maybe not. But I’ve got a picture of him in my head. I don’t know why.”

Henrietta walked to the bed, looked out the window, crossed her arms, and shivered. “This is weirding me out, Henry.”

Henry picked up the book on the nightstand and turned it over. “It’s a journal.”

Henrietta looked at him. “Grandfather’s journal?”

“It’s full. It looks like he was just reading it.”

“I don’t think he was. Dad says he was reading him a book about an old war when he died. Somebody else must be reading it.”

“Who?” Henry asked.

She looked right at Henry, her eyes wide. “Who’d you see in the bathroom? I don’t know.” She shivered again and rubbed her arms.

Henry looked back at the purple robe on the door and then down at the journal. He began reading.

“Henrietta,” he said. “This is about the cupboards.”

“What?” She looked over his shoulder. The page on the right was covered with a drawing. The ink was blotchy, but there was no doubt what it was. It was Henry’s cupboard wall. There was an outline for every cupboard door, and in the middle of all but one was a number. The page on the left had two columns of numbers, 1 to 98.