House of Secrets. Ned Vizzini
the basement. I don’t think there’s a ‘grid’ out here.”
“So let’s start it back up.”
“With what, Bren? Generators need fuel.”
“Maybe there are fuel cans down there! Come on! We need to do something. Without power we’ll starve—”
“But what if there’s something else in the basement?” asked Eleanor.
“Like Mum and Dad,” said Cordelia. The Walkers looked at each other with a mixture of hope and fear, imagining the ways they could find their parents: safe and well… or laid out on the floor, cold.
“We need to be strong, not psych ourselves out,” said Brendan, trying to sound brave and unexpectedly pulling it off. “There’s gotta be a flashlight somewhere.” He rifled through kitchen drawers until he found a Maglite as thick as Eleanor’s arm. He tested it – it worked – and shone it on an unadorned door at the back of the room.
“Who’s going first?”
“You’ve got the flashlight,” said Eleanor.
Brendan reluctantly opened the door. Rickety wooden steps led down to a cool, cavernous basement that smelled of cedar and dust.
“Was this the part of the house that hung over the cliff?” Cordelia asked.
“I think so. I wonder if the barrels are still there.”
Brendan panned left and right so nothing could jump out at them. Cordelia jammed a shoe in the doorway so they couldn’t get locked in.
They went down the steps. Stacks of cans, a wheelbarrow, and a sledgehammer lay in one corner of the basement; a tent and power tools lay in another. Between them was a black box on six wheels, the size of a mini fridge, pressed against the wall and plugged in.
“Is that it?” Brendan asked.
“I think so…” said Cordelia. She hopped on one leg, not wanting to let her single shoeless foot touch the floor, but when it did, she found it wasn’t so bad; the floor was worn-down wood, almost soft. Brendan read the yellow sign printed on the box: “‘BlackoutReady IPS Twelve Thousand.’ That sounds good.”
He illuminated the box’s control panel; it was completely dead. “Where does the fuel go? Maybe there’s a manual.”
Brendan whipped around the flashlight, saw something on the floor – and screamed.
He was staring at a human hand.
Brendan jumped, knocking over Cordelia and Eleanor. The flashlight hit the floor and rolled, coming to rest beside a rusted old sewing machine. The beam of light pointed to a mannequin on the floor in a half-finished Victorian dress. The mannequin was missing a hand.
“Nice one, Bren,” Cordelia said. She picked up the fake hand; it was made of wax.
“Yeah,” said Eleanor. “You’re freaking out over a dummy. At least Cordelia got scared of a real bat.”
“Whatever.” Brendan took the flashlight and refocused on the BlackoutReady, finding the instructions on top. He read aloud, “‘The generator will automatically begin recharging through the input plug when power returns.’” He groaned. “If power returns.”
“What are we gonna do?” Eleanor asked.
“Sit here and wait to get killed by witches or giant dragonflies. Whatever comes first.”
“Don’t say that! Deal?”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”
“No!” Eleanor grabbed the flashlight and pointed it accusingly at her siblings. “We had a mission, remember? To find Mum and Dad!”
“That’s right, Nell. But we’ve checked the whole house, including the basement, and they aren’t here.”
“What about outside? We haven’t looked there yet.”
“That’s where the giant dragonflies are!”
“I don’t care what’s out there. We need to search for them while it’s still light out. You guys can stay here if you want.”
Eleanor stomped up the basement stairs. Brendan and Cordelia glanced at each other and rushed after her; she had the only light.
Back on the first floor, the Walkers opened all the shutters to let in enough light for them to see by. Then, in the kitchen, Brendan insisted on some self-defence measures before the group ventured out. He took a chef’s knife from the magnetic rack that was now on the floor, and he outfitted Cordelia with a steak knife and Eleanor with a barbecue fork. “Hold your weapon like a hammer,” he instructed, “with the blade pointed up.”
“I don’t have a blade,” protested Eleanor.
“Your fork, then. In a fight you can use your hand to deliver butt-end knife strikes – Nell, that’s not funny. Stand with your legs shoulder-width apart. Don’t you guys know anything? Ugh, forget it.”
Brendan led his sisters out of the kitchen, past the suit of armour that was knocked over in the hall. “Hold on.” He went back to the kitchen, grabbed some duct tape, and taped the breastplate around Cordelia. Then he put the helmet on and gave Eleanor the gauntlets, which were big enough to reach from her elbows to her wrists. Thus armed, looking better prepared for Halloween than for a fantastical forest, the Walker children opened the front door and stepped outside.
Brendan squinted in the light. The helmet hadn’t been such a good idea: the eye slits were meant for someone with further-apart eyes. He tried to take it off, but it was stuck on his head. Cordelia tipped her head back and saw the tops of the trees, dozens of metres up, against slivers of blue sky.
“Mum!” Eleanor called. “Mummy! Are you out here?”
“Dad! Hey, Dad, can you hear us?” Brendan said. “We’re safe! Kind of…”
For a moment, the birds and bugs dipped into quiet… and then they started up again, filling the void as if the Walkers had never spoken. The children circled the house, sticking together, weapons drawn, calling out as they went. Brendan longed for anything familiar, even the stone angel. He noted the terrifying uniformity of the wilderness that surrounded them. Apart from the distant brook they had spotted through the attic window, there wasn’t anything to indicate direction. The only way to tell which way was which was by looking at the shadows of the trees. And if we didn’t go back in time, who’s to say we’re not in some weird place where the sun rises in the west and sets in the east?
When the Walkers came back around to the front door, they were no closer to finding their parents, but their calls had attracted something else.
A wolf, over two metres from tail to snout, was sniffing the ground in front of their home.
The wolf raised its head, revealing scarred, matted fur and milky, rabid eyes. It growled, stretching the noise out like a fake smile, exposing double rows of wet, razor-sharp teeth. It took a step towards them.
“Bren!” Cordelia whispered. “What do we do?”
Brendan tried to remember what he’d been taught in Boy Scouts about animal attacks – you were supposed to not move, stay quiet, and be calm; the animal wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t bother it – but that seemed irrelevant under the gaze of this creature, which clearly intended to eat them. All he could do was tense his muscles and gulp. The wolf bent its head over Eleanor.