base, including wooden animals, spinning tops, musical instruments, and gaily painted puppets. One corner seemed to be taken with a circus act’s equipment, and Roberto: The Limbless Man staredout at her from a billboard and several posters. Circus games, their origins and uses lost to memory, stood either side of Roberto’s posters, beautifully built, their garish colors fading down in the basement.
Bookshelves, furniture, hat boxes, mirrors, paintings, lamps, sculptured animals in wood and metal, a rack of movie reels—
And then the torch passed across a ghostly face staring right at her.
Dana screamed and dropped the torch, scrabbling to snatch it up again and backing against a wardrobe, its corner and joints soft and weakened by decay. Something fell inside the wardrobe—it sounded wet —and she slid away, torch and attention still fixed on the face.
Those eyes so probing so harsh so knowing !
“Dana?” Holden called from above. Footsteps rang on the stairs and timber creaked, and it sounded as if his voice and steps were coming in from a great distance, not just twenty feet away. Even as she realized that the glaring face was a portrait she was willing Holden to her, and hoping he would make the journey in safety.
Weird idea , she thought, and then Holden was by her side, holding her arm and looking at the portrait as well. It was actually a daguerreotype, she saw, of a young woman maybe fifteen years old. Her clothes were turn-of-the-century, and she stared with a grimness that typified portraiture of the time.
“You okay?” Holden asked. More clattering and creaking, and the others arrived behind him, even Curt looking concerned. Changed his tune , she thought.“Yeah. Sorry. I just... scared myself. It was stupid.”
“You called for help,” Curt said. “Voids the dare. Take your top off.”
Marty struck a match and lit an old oil lantern hanging on the wall, adjusting it so that the flame burned bright. It smoked for the first few seconds, burning off oil that had been coagulating for years, and then the orange light diffused through the room.
The others all gasped, and Dana caught her breath.
It’s even more amazing than I thought.
“Oh my God,” Holden muttered.
The basement occupied at least the floor area of the cabin above, perhaps more, and every dark corner seemed to be filled with creepy clutter.
“Look at all this,” Jules said, and she was the first to slowly start examining the piles of stuff.
“Uh, guys,” Marty said, “I’m not sure it’s awesome to be down here.” He stood at the bottom of the staircase, the oil lamp back on the hook beside him, and he looked as if he’d be darting back upstairs at the slightest provocation.
But the others weren’t paying any attention. Jules and Curt were off on their own, each focusing on different parts of the basement, and Holden still stood beside Dana, peering around in wonder. He took a step and picked up an ornate music box from the pile of children’s toys. Removing his glasses from his pocket and slipping them on, he turned the box this way and that before pausing, seemingly holding his breath.
“Dude, seriously, your cousin’s into some weird shit.”Curt was across the basement holding a conch shell in his hands, turning it this way and that, and he brought it halfway to his ear —You can hear the sea if you press an old shell to your ear —before changing his mind and quickly putting it back down. He picked up a melon-sized wooden sphere that lay behind it. It was inlaid with dusty brass rings and lined with angular joints, and he turned it in his hands as if trying to find a way in.
“Pretty sure this ain’t his,” he said. “Maybe the people who put in that window... ”
Dana couldn’t take her eyes off the portrait of the girl. It was propped on a hardwood stand, and a black sheet hung over the portrait’s frame as if it had once been concealed from view. On the small vanity table that stood before it
Bookshelves, furniture, hat boxes, mirrors, paintings, lamps, sculptured animals in wood and metal, a rack of movie reels—
And then the torch passed across a ghostly face staring right at her.
Dana screamed and dropped the torch, scrabbling to snatch it up again and backing against a wardrobe, its corner and joints soft and weakened by decay. Something fell inside the wardrobe—it sounded wet —and she slid away, torch and attention still fixed on the face.
Those eyes so probing so harsh so knowing !
“Dana?” Holden called from above. Footsteps rang on the stairs and timber creaked, and it sounded as if his voice and steps were coming in from a great distance, not just twenty feet away. Even as she realized that the glaring face was a portrait she was willing Holden to her, and hoping he would make the journey in safety.
Weird idea , she thought, and then Holden was by her side, holding her arm and looking at the portrait as well. It was actually a daguerreotype, she saw, of a young woman maybe fifteen years old. Her clothes were turn-of-the-century, and she stared with a grimness that typified portraiture of the time.
“You okay?” Holden asked. More clattering and creaking, and the others arrived behind him, even Curt looking concerned. Changed his tune , she thought.“Yeah. Sorry. I just... scared myself. It was stupid.”
“You called for help,” Curt said. “Voids the dare. Take your top off.”
Marty struck a match and lit an old oil lantern hanging on the wall, adjusting it so that the flame burned bright. It smoked for the first few seconds, burning off oil that had been coagulating for years, and then the orange light diffused through the room.
The others all gasped, and Dana caught her breath.
It’s even more amazing than I thought.
“Oh my God,” Holden muttered.
The basement occupied at least the floor area of the cabin above, perhaps more, and every dark corner seemed to be filled with creepy clutter.
“Look at all this,” Jules said, and she was the first to slowly start examining the piles of stuff.
“Uh, guys,” Marty said, “I’m not sure it’s awesome to be down here.” He stood at the bottom of the staircase, the oil lamp back on the hook beside him, and he looked as if he’d be darting back upstairs at the slightest provocation.
But the others weren’t paying any attention. Jules and Curt were off on their own, each focusing on different parts of the basement, and Holden still stood beside Dana, peering around in wonder. He took a step and picked up an ornate music box from the pile of children’s toys. Removing his glasses from his pocket and slipping them on, he turned the box this way and that before pausing, seemingly holding his breath.
“Dude, seriously, your cousin’s into some weird shit.”Curt was across the basement holding a conch shell in his hands, turning it this way and that, and he brought it halfway to his ear —You can hear the sea if you press an old shell to your ear —before changing his mind and quickly putting it back down. He picked up a melon-sized wooden sphere that lay behind it. It was inlaid with dusty brass rings and lined with angular joints, and he turned it in his hands as if trying to find a way in.
“Pretty sure this ain’t his,” he said. “Maybe the people who put in that window... ”
Dana couldn’t take her eyes off the portrait of the girl. It was propped on a hardwood stand, and a black sheet hung over the portrait’s frame as if it had once been concealed from view. On the small vanity table that stood before it
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