point that was marked FRONT DOOR in one of the hall-like buildings that occupied the central mass of the House. Through the Front Door and then…
Then what? Arthur had no idea. But he knew he could not turn back. He had to find a cure or at least find out more about the disease the paramedic had called the Sleepy Plague. And he had to find out why he had been given the Key and the Atlas.
All the answers lay inside the House, so it was to the House he would go. Arthur walked right up to the wall, touched the cool stone surface, and—keeping one hand brushing the stone—started to walk along the wall southward towards where he thought Monday’s Postern should be.
Arthur reached the southwestern corner of the House’s border in ten minutes. He found that while he touched the wall, he couldn’t see or hear any traffic on Parks Way, or see any people in the houses or yards across the street. It was as if the street and the houses were a painted backdrop, waiting for the cast to come on that evening.
But if he moved away from the wall and stopped trailing his finger along it, then he could see cars passing by and people going into their homes. He could hear dogs barking and children crying and, most of all, distant sirens and the constant clatter of helicopters. It was clear that the quarantine had been extended past the school.
Mostly Arthur kept touching the wall. He figured that if he couldn’t see or hear other people, they wouldn’t be able to see or hear him.
Monday’s Postern was along the south wall, only a few hundred yards from the western corner. Just before he got to where he thought it would be, Arthur walked away from the wall. But when he looked for a door or a gate or some means of entry, there was nothing. Just the cold marble, smooth and shining.
Arthur frowned and walked closer. He still couldn’t see anything. So he raised the Key and touched it to the wall.
This had an immediate effect. The marble where he touched the Key glowed brightly and the dark veins in the stone began to throb and move as if they were living, fluid conduits. Ten or twelve paces away, the dark shape of an open, shadowed doorway appeared.
Arthur didn’t like the look of it, but he moved closer, keeping the Key touching the wall. As he moved, the marble quieted where he’d left and quickened where he touched.
The doorway was so black Arthur couldn’t work out whether it was open or shut. Somehow it absorbed the light, so it was like looking into the deepest shadow. That shadow could be just an image upon the wall, or it could be a deep, dark entrance to somewhere else.
Arthur felt himself shiver as he moved closer to the postern. A convulsive shiver that he was unable to stop. But he had to pass through that doorway to get to the House proper and to the Front Door.
The first step was to see whether it was open or not.
Hesitantly, Arthur reached out with the Key. He met no resistance, the silver-and-gold clock hand still shining as it sank into the darkness, though its light did not illuminate the doorway.
There was a faintly electric sensation around his hand and wrist, but it didn’t hurt. Arthur leaned forward and extended his arm so that it disappeared up to the elbow in the inky doorway. It still didn’t hurt, and he couldn’t feel anything on the other side. There was no resistance, no hard object for the Key to strike.
Arthur pulled out his hand and inspected it. Both the Key and his arm looked exactly the same as they had before he reached into the doorway. His skin hadn’t been transformed or injured or affected in any way that he could see or feel.
Still Arthur hesitated. Not being able to see what was beyond the open doorway scared him. He’d also lost his backpack and the salt, his weapon against the Fetchers. It was probably still in the ambulance.
But he had the Key and he couldn’t help feeling excited as well as afraid. The House and all its mysteries—and answers—lay behind this wall. As
Then what? Arthur had no idea. But he knew he could not turn back. He had to find a cure or at least find out more about the disease the paramedic had called the Sleepy Plague. And he had to find out why he had been given the Key and the Atlas.
All the answers lay inside the House, so it was to the House he would go. Arthur walked right up to the wall, touched the cool stone surface, and—keeping one hand brushing the stone—started to walk along the wall southward towards where he thought Monday’s Postern should be.
Arthur reached the southwestern corner of the House’s border in ten minutes. He found that while he touched the wall, he couldn’t see or hear any traffic on Parks Way, or see any people in the houses or yards across the street. It was as if the street and the houses were a painted backdrop, waiting for the cast to come on that evening.
But if he moved away from the wall and stopped trailing his finger along it, then he could see cars passing by and people going into their homes. He could hear dogs barking and children crying and, most of all, distant sirens and the constant clatter of helicopters. It was clear that the quarantine had been extended past the school.
Mostly Arthur kept touching the wall. He figured that if he couldn’t see or hear other people, they wouldn’t be able to see or hear him.
Monday’s Postern was along the south wall, only a few hundred yards from the western corner. Just before he got to where he thought it would be, Arthur walked away from the wall. But when he looked for a door or a gate or some means of entry, there was nothing. Just the cold marble, smooth and shining.
Arthur frowned and walked closer. He still couldn’t see anything. So he raised the Key and touched it to the wall.
This had an immediate effect. The marble where he touched the Key glowed brightly and the dark veins in the stone began to throb and move as if they were living, fluid conduits. Ten or twelve paces away, the dark shape of an open, shadowed doorway appeared.
Arthur didn’t like the look of it, but he moved closer, keeping the Key touching the wall. As he moved, the marble quieted where he’d left and quickened where he touched.
The doorway was so black Arthur couldn’t work out whether it was open or shut. Somehow it absorbed the light, so it was like looking into the deepest shadow. That shadow could be just an image upon the wall, or it could be a deep, dark entrance to somewhere else.
Arthur felt himself shiver as he moved closer to the postern. A convulsive shiver that he was unable to stop. But he had to pass through that doorway to get to the House proper and to the Front Door.
The first step was to see whether it was open or not.
Hesitantly, Arthur reached out with the Key. He met no resistance, the silver-and-gold clock hand still shining as it sank into the darkness, though its light did not illuminate the doorway.
There was a faintly electric sensation around his hand and wrist, but it didn’t hurt. Arthur leaned forward and extended his arm so that it disappeared up to the elbow in the inky doorway. It still didn’t hurt, and he couldn’t feel anything on the other side. There was no resistance, no hard object for the Key to strike.
Arthur pulled out his hand and inspected it. Both the Key and his arm looked exactly the same as they had before he reached into the doorway. His skin hadn’t been transformed or injured or affected in any way that he could see or feel.
Still Arthur hesitated. Not being able to see what was beyond the open doorway scared him. He’d also lost his backpack and the salt, his weapon against the Fetchers. It was probably still in the ambulance.
But he had the Key and he couldn’t help feeling excited as well as afraid. The House and all its mysteries—and answers—lay behind this wall. As
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