then straightened. I pulled opened the desk drawer.
Pens, erasers, pencils, a stack of creamy letter paper with crinkly edges, matching envelopes, a bottle of ink, some elastic bands, paper clips … all very tidy. Probably Grandfather’s. I’d never seen my father use a fountain pen. But there were no stray keys.
I made a quick search of the other drawers in the desk but found nothing but files and papers. Then I got up and began examining the bookshelves. They looked normal, with an occasional framed photograph or small decorated box breaking up the long straight lines of books. None of the boxes held a key, and none of the photographs had a key taped to the back.
So where would someone hide a key in a room like this? Polly had said something about a false book, which seemedunlikely. Even if it was possible, how was I to know which book was false?
I went back to the desk and got down on the floor under the desk to see if I could find a secret compartment behind the drawer, but there was nothing, just the frame of the desk. I tucked up my legs and sat there for a while. I used to sit under my father’s desk like that at the old house.
My tummy was very full of supper and I was feeling a bit sleepy. I closed my eyes.
I didn’t fall asleep. I know I didn’t. I just closed my eyes. But the room felt suddenly darker and I heard a rushing sound, like a train going by, and a long, agonized scream tore out of someone, and I was falling again, falling, and then it was me inside the scream, and I was calling for my father but he was too far away to ever hear me.
I jerked as I opened my eyes with a start and banged my head against the top of the desk. I crawled out and got to my feet, wondering if I had screamed out loud and if Kendrick would burst in, and I was turning towards the door when I stopped dead in my tracks.
Someone was sitting in the armchair by the fire.
THE SECRET PASSAGE
Polly
A door. A small door, to be sure, but nevertheless, a door.
I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland bending down and peering in the door she was too big to get through. This door was about a foot and a half square. I flashed the light in, but all it revealed was the sloping roof meeting the floor.
I sat back on my heels and used the flashlight to examine this wall again. The roof angled down from the peak to about two feet above the floor, where it cut away and went straight down to meet the floor. I poked my head carefully inside the door and looked around the corner. There was a small passageway leading away into darkness. The builders must have wanted to close the attic off from the eaves.
But how far did it go? Could I possibly get into Rose’s attic this way? Could I even fit?
I went back to the adjoining wall.
“Rose!” I called out. “Rose!”
No answer.
I went back to the door. If only there’d been a little bottlelabeled “Drink Me,” I could have shrunk myself down and made the whole thing a lot easier.
I took off my bulky sweater, gripped the flashlight firmly in my hand and crawled in.
It smelled different from the attic: a moldy, animal smell. I wondered if there were mice in there … or maybe something bigger, like a squirrel or a raccoon. I banged the flashlight against the wall a couple of times.
“Get lost, mice!” I called out. “Big scary person coming!”
I found I couldn’t actually crawl on my hands and knees. I had to lie on my stomach and wriggle. I wished I hadn’t had that second helping of mashed potatoes and gravy at supper. It was a tight fit.
It’s hard to tell distance in the dark, especially when you’re lying down and can’t exactly measure by footsteps. But I got to about where I thought my house should end, and the passage kept on going. My flashlight sent out a dim yellow beam, and I could see only about three feet ahead. I carefully hauled myself along a little farther and then stopped and listened.
If I was in Rose’s house now, I had no way of telling. All was
Pens, erasers, pencils, a stack of creamy letter paper with crinkly edges, matching envelopes, a bottle of ink, some elastic bands, paper clips … all very tidy. Probably Grandfather’s. I’d never seen my father use a fountain pen. But there were no stray keys.
I made a quick search of the other drawers in the desk but found nothing but files and papers. Then I got up and began examining the bookshelves. They looked normal, with an occasional framed photograph or small decorated box breaking up the long straight lines of books. None of the boxes held a key, and none of the photographs had a key taped to the back.
So where would someone hide a key in a room like this? Polly had said something about a false book, which seemedunlikely. Even if it was possible, how was I to know which book was false?
I went back to the desk and got down on the floor under the desk to see if I could find a secret compartment behind the drawer, but there was nothing, just the frame of the desk. I tucked up my legs and sat there for a while. I used to sit under my father’s desk like that at the old house.
My tummy was very full of supper and I was feeling a bit sleepy. I closed my eyes.
I didn’t fall asleep. I know I didn’t. I just closed my eyes. But the room felt suddenly darker and I heard a rushing sound, like a train going by, and a long, agonized scream tore out of someone, and I was falling again, falling, and then it was me inside the scream, and I was calling for my father but he was too far away to ever hear me.
I jerked as I opened my eyes with a start and banged my head against the top of the desk. I crawled out and got to my feet, wondering if I had screamed out loud and if Kendrick would burst in, and I was turning towards the door when I stopped dead in my tracks.
Someone was sitting in the armchair by the fire.
THE SECRET PASSAGE
Polly
A door. A small door, to be sure, but nevertheless, a door.
I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland bending down and peering in the door she was too big to get through. This door was about a foot and a half square. I flashed the light in, but all it revealed was the sloping roof meeting the floor.
I sat back on my heels and used the flashlight to examine this wall again. The roof angled down from the peak to about two feet above the floor, where it cut away and went straight down to meet the floor. I poked my head carefully inside the door and looked around the corner. There was a small passageway leading away into darkness. The builders must have wanted to close the attic off from the eaves.
But how far did it go? Could I possibly get into Rose’s attic this way? Could I even fit?
I went back to the adjoining wall.
“Rose!” I called out. “Rose!”
No answer.
I went back to the door. If only there’d been a little bottlelabeled “Drink Me,” I could have shrunk myself down and made the whole thing a lot easier.
I took off my bulky sweater, gripped the flashlight firmly in my hand and crawled in.
It smelled different from the attic: a moldy, animal smell. I wondered if there were mice in there … or maybe something bigger, like a squirrel or a raccoon. I banged the flashlight against the wall a couple of times.
“Get lost, mice!” I called out. “Big scary person coming!”
I found I couldn’t actually crawl on my hands and knees. I had to lie on my stomach and wriggle. I wished I hadn’t had that second helping of mashed potatoes and gravy at supper. It was a tight fit.
It’s hard to tell distance in the dark, especially when you’re lying down and can’t exactly measure by footsteps. But I got to about where I thought my house should end, and the passage kept on going. My flashlight sent out a dim yellow beam, and I could see only about three feet ahead. I carefully hauled myself along a little farther and then stopped and listened.
If I was in Rose’s house now, I had no way of telling. All was
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