House by Frank Peretti Page A

study. Sort of.
    Jack stepped in. Long red drapes framed a huge mirror on the left wall. Another pentagram with the same words appeared on opposite wall. The wages of sin is death . That was it. Just the desk, the mirror, the graffiti.
    And three more doors, one of which looked like it led back out to the main hall. The other two stood straight ahead in the opposite wall. They led deeper into the basement, maybe.
    â€œYou think that door leads back out to the hall?” Randy asked. “This isn’t good. I don’t like it. We have to find the storage room, or wherever they’d keep guns.”
    He hurried toward one of the doors directly ahead. “Tell me what kind of a freaking place this is . . . ?”
    He’s beginning to melt down, Jack thought.
    Weren’t they all?
    Randy reached for the knob, pulled up short. He was staring at the mirror. Why, Jack wasn’t going to spend precious time finding out.
    â€œOkay, we have to split up. Just go, run.” Jack ran toward the door that he guessed opened back into the main hall. “Cover every room and meet back in the hall.”
    Jack threw open the door and bolted into darkness. Dripping water. Smelled musty, sweet next to the rotten-egg odor that permeated the room behind him.
    Randy was still blinking at the mirror, waving at it now.
    â€œSnap out of it, Randy! Did you hear me? We have to move!”
    â€œI don’t . . . Something’s wrong with this mirror.”
    â€œWho cares? Let’s go!”
    â€œI don’t have a reflection.”
    The ridiculousness of Randy’s claim ballooned in Jack’s mind. He released the door and crossed to Randy, who was still staring, stupefied.
    Jack stood next to him and looked into the mirror. No reflection.
    Correction: no reflection of them. The desk behind them was in clear view. So was the far wall.
    â€œWe should leave,” Randy said.
    â€œIt’s a trick mirror or something. They make them like this.” Maybe Betty and company had once been a part of some gypsy circus. It might explain a few things.
    â€œNo, this isn’t some trick mirror. We’re like vampires down here, man!”
    â€œDon’t be an idiot. Come on, we have to be reasonable about this. Cover the—”
    â€œI’m not splitting up.”
    â€œStop it! Leslie’s out there!”
    â€œWe’re going to die down here, Jack. All of us. We’re all going to die.”
    â€œYeah, if we don’t move. Follow me.”
    He ran for the door he’d opened, Randy at his heels now.
    â€œFind a switch.” He slapped the wall on the right. Wet and cool. No switch. He raised his hands and started waving high.
    A string hung low several yards in. He gave it a gentle tug, lighting a bulb mounted to the beams above. Now this was the kind of room Jack expected to find down here. Wet, mildewed walls lined with wooden racks. Two more doors.
    â€œRoot cellar,” he said.
    â€œWhere’s the hall?”
    â€œMust be through that door.”
    The fact was, based on what he’d seen down here so far, the basement wasn’t laid out like any he’d ever seen. Jack crossed the cellar and pulled open the door. As expected, the main hall. He released the handle with a small measure of satisfaction.
    Randy hurried past him.
    â€œTry one of the other doors,” Jack said.
    The sound of running boots pounded over their heads.
    Randy jerked his head up and stared at the labyrinth of pipes that crossed the ceiling. “They’re coming!”
    As if to emphasize the point, a muffled shotgun blast boomed above. Stephanie? No, she was still in the closet, and the sound had come from the kitchen area. Unless she’d given up after five minutes and made a break for the back door. Would they come directly downstairs or search the upper floors first?
    The faint sound of humming came again, as it had upstairs. Jack whirled. “You hear