Beyond the Doors Page 5

  The remainder of the day was moderately uneventful, or at least as uneventful as a crazy afternoon spent in a crazy house with a crazy aunt could be. The children each claimed their rooms: Zack on the first floor, Alexa the room right next to his, and Janice one a few rooms down from theirs. Sydney chose a door-filled room on the third floor, which sent Aunt Gladys into a serious tizzy until Zack offered to help Aunt Gladys move some of her precious doors into another room. The rest they covered with large, flowery bedsheets.

  They unrolled sleeping bags (Aunt Gladys had promised to purchase actual beds sometime soon) and laid their few, meager possessions out on the floors of their rooms. For dinner, they joined their aunt for a bowl of Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings (Aunt Gladys promised to purchase non–Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings food sometime soon, and Zack quickly offered to join her on her shopping excursion) and a glass of milk. Then Aunt Gladys, fretting about forgetting something important, mysteriously disappeared once again behind the mysterious titanium door into the mysterious central room with instructions not to be disturbed. The children were left to fend for themselves for the evening.

  There was little to do in this oddly circular house. There were no televisions, no computers, no board games, no decks of cards, no pencils, no pens, no chalk, no crayons, no paper. Nor were there balls of any kind to bounce, throw, roll, fling, or toss. There also, oddly and ominously enough, seemed to be no way out of the house. The drawbridge was shut and locked tight, and the children could find no other doors. They considered letting themselves out through a window, but the yawning chasm of the moat below snuffed that idea right out. So they took to wandering about, each in their own direction.

  Zack found himself absently pacing around the first floor. He considered heading for the kitchen to whip something up, because that always made him feel better, but he didn’t think there was a whole lot he’d be able to do when his only ingredients were milk and Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings. So he wound up thinking about their father instead. Zach wondered when he’d wake up. (He knew their father would wake up eventually, because the alternative was simply unthinkable.) He wished his father were with him now. He could use a dose of the old man’s parental wisdom—even though his dad often looked to be still figuring things out himself. Still, just to hear his voice would be comforting. Of course, if he were here, there’d be no need to be at Aunt Gladys’s in the first place.

  After a quick look in both directions to ensure he was alone, Zack slumped to the floor and placed his head in his hands. He allowed his facade of self-control to fall away, letting the grief and fear and insecurity and anger wash over him like a scalding shower.

  “Why?” he whispered imploringly to the universe. “Why?”

  The universe did not answer.

  But someone else did.

  “Hello? I am here.”

  Zack jumped to his feet and spun around, but no one was there. His eyes searched every nook and cranny of the room—discovering he’d plopped down next to the controls for the drawbridge—yet came up empty.

  Great. I’m hearing voices, he thought.

  “Hello, please? Please, hello?”

  He spun around a second time. “Who’s there?” he called out.

  “Hello, Miss Gladys? Is Dimitri. Hello?”

  The voice was coming from the drawbridge/wall contraption. Zack nervously inched forward, peering into the surprising blackness that hovered menacingly in front of the wall. He didn’t think anybody was standing there in the shadows….

  “Miss Gladys?” came the voice yet again. “Is Dimitri. Hello?”

  And he was right. Reaching the wall, he saw a black plastic walkie-talkie lying atop a series of gears that Zack figured must have something to do with raising and lowering the drawbridge.

  He picked up the walkie-talkie gingerly, as if it might suddenly sprout fangs and bite him.

  “Miss Gladys, is Dimitri,” continued Dimitri, who struck Zack as a very persistent man. “Hello? Miss Gladys?”

  Not sure what else to do, Zack pressed the Talk button.

  “Hello?” he said.

  A startled yelp burst through the device. A moment later, Dimitri collected himself and his voice came through again. “Miss Gladys? Your voice funny. Is bad time?”

  “No,” replied Zack quickly for fear of losing the man. “I’m not Aunt Gladys. I’m Zack. Her nephew.”

  “Oooooo­ooooo­okay,” said a very confused Dimitri. “Is Miss Gladys there? I talk to Miss Gladys now.”

  “Actually, she’s…” Zack stopped, not sure how much to tell the strange voice. “She’s not available.”

  “Oooooo­ooooo­okay,” repeated Dimitri. “I drop off. You open, yes?”

  “Open…You mean lower the drawbridge? Are you outside?”

  “Yes. Outside. Hello! See, I wave!”

  Zack, of course, could not see Dimitri wave, as there were no windows in the room. He chose to take the man’s word. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to open this thing. Can you just leave your…whatever it is…out there?”

  “No. Is fresh. Will go bad. Open, please.”

  Fresh? thought Zack. She gets her groceries delivered? Does cereal go bad?

  “You open?” continued Dimitri. “I in rush. Pizza get cold.”

  Pizza! Now Zack was motivated. “Yeah, hold on.” He quickly studied the drawbridge mechanism. Were those two gears connected? What would happen if he pulled that lever?

  He pulled the lever.

  Nothing. “Huh.”

  “You have trouble? Door tricky. Yes. Is lever,” offered Dimitri. “Pull lever.”

  Which one? Zack ran his fingers along a series of switches, levers, and pulleys, utterly confused.

  “Have you pulled?” asked Dimitri. “I think no, as door closed. Maybe try—”

  He didn’t get the chance to suggest anything, because Zack started pulling levers at random and got lucky.

  Dimitri did not get lucky. He got squashed.

  With a sickening crunch, the drawbridge fell open, raising a blinding cloud of dust that billowed out in all directions, including into Zack’s face. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand while peering through almost-closed eyes at the carnage he had just unleashed.

  “Hello?” he called out after a moment. “Dimitri?”

  As the safari-colored fog lifted, Zack made out the sprightly shape of a tall, burly man hopping on one foot while cradling the other in his hands. After a moment, words drifted their way to Zack’s ears to go along with the chaotic movement.

  “Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Ow!”

  Cringing, Zack stepped onto the drawbridge and called out to the suffering individual. “Are you all right?” Granted, it wasn’t the most intelligent question he could have asked, but in his defense, he’d just dropped a drawbridge onto a complete stranger, which can be disorienting.

  “Hello!” Dimitri let go of his injured foot with one hand long enough to wave. “Mr. Zack, yes? No. Not all right. Much pain. Very much pain.” He grabbed his foot and continued hopping.

  “I’m sorry!” called Zack. “I didn’t mean to club you with the drawbridge!”

  “Is okay,” assured Dimitri without bothering to look up. “Is not first time. Give me moment, yes? Then we unload.”

  Unload? wondered Zack. He lifted his gaze past the flamingo-like Dimitri to a large yellow moving van parked nearby. The back doors of the van yawned open, revealing dozens of wooden doors—each one aged, worn, dusty, and looking as if it should be barring entrance to an ancient tomb of evil.

  Are you kidding me? Zack asked himself. More doors?

  Looks like it, he answered himself.

  “Dimitri! I forgot!” Aunt Gladys bounded her way onto the drawbridge, appearing, as far as Zack was concerned, out of nowhere. “I knew I forgot! But forgot what? But of course! Dimitri!”

  “Miss Gladys.” Zack couldn’t help noticing a change in the injured man’s tone as he addressed the lady of the house. “Today is day. I drop.
”

  “Of course!” Aunt Gladys brushed past Zack like he wasn’t even there. “No trouble?”

  “No trouble.” Dimitri set his foot down gingerly. “Is good.”

  “You’re hurt. The drawbridge again?”

  “My fault. No worry.”

  “And the doors?”

  “The best!”

  “But the owners—”

  “Every one.”

  Aunt Gladys drifted to the van in a dreamy glide. “So fresh,” she commented, reaching a gloved hand toward the pile. “Vibrant. Alive.”

  “Maybe one—” Dimitri began.

  “We can hope,” Aunt Gladys finished.

  “You want I—?”

  “If it’s not—”

  “Is none. Third?”

  “Second. Third to the left.”

  “You make progress?” Dimitri’s eyes sparkled. “Is wonderful!”

  Zack couldn’t be sure, but he thought Aunt Gladys might have actually blushed. “I was in a groove.”

  Zack’s head spun trying to follow the scattered, half-formed conversation. He was sure it meant something to the two of them, but from where he was standing, it was pure gibberish. “Progress with what, Aunt Gladys?” he asked. “Why do you have all these doors?”

  Aunt Gladys turned around and jumped back, startled to see Zack standing there. “Oh! Zelda! I didn’t see—no, not Zelda. You’re a boy. Zeke? Zanzibar? It starts with a Z.”

  “Zack,” he offered with a patient sigh.

  “No, that’s not it.” She frowned. “It’ll come to me.” She shook her head clear and smiled at him.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Zack asked again, “Your progress? The doors?”

  “Oh! Yes!” She lit up, then quickly shook her head. “No, definitely not. It would be…” She turned to Dimitri. “You understand?”

  “Perfectly, Miss Gladys,” he replied.

  “Understand what?” asked Zack.

  But when Aunt Gladys turned back, she was all business. “Go inside. Stay out of Dimitri’s way. He won’t be long.”

  She stared at him with a warm-but-firm gaze, waiting.

  “What’s going on, Aunt Gladys?” he tried one last time.

  She took a breath as if to respond, but then thought better of it and simply shook her head.

  “Yes. Not long,” piped a cheery Dimitri, hauling the first door out of the back of the van. “Must hurry. Pizza get cold.”

  Not long after Dimitri lugged the fresh, new doors into a room on the second floor and drove away, Aunt Gladys announced it was time for another dinner. Janice was confused because they’d already eaten, but also excited because Zack said the strange man had mentioned pizza. Her excitement died a quick death when bowls of cereal appeared instead.

  “Cereal?” asked Zack. “I thought your friend brought pizza.”

  “Pizza? No pizza. Cereal. Don’t like pizza,” explained Aunt Gladys. “Too much cheese.”

  They grudgingly ate another bowl of Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings in silence (Aunt Gladys again promised to go to the grocery store soon and Zack again begged to accompany her), spoons bringing circles of bland nourishment to their mouths in an endless loop of boredom, until Aunt Gladys startled them all by suddenly standing up.

  “Who’s done? I’m done! Finished my cereal!”

  She proudly showed her mostly empty bowl to the kids, then frowned, as if realizing this was odd behavior. Face slightly red, she carried her bowl and spoon to the sink. “Remember. Please clean your dishes. And put them away. When you’ve finished,” she said. “I have work. In my…my room. Not my bedroom. The other room. My working room. Good night.”

  She turned and walked away, leaving the children to once again fend for themselves.

  “She’s funny,” said Alexa.

  “She’s nuts,” corrected Sydney.

  “Give her a break,” pleaded Zack. “She’s obviously not used to company.”

  The children cleared and washed their bowls and spoons. It being too early for sleep, and none of them really wanting to be alone, they ended up crammed together in Sydney’s third-floor room among the piles of doors hiding under floral bedsheets. Sydney sat on her bedroll, glaring at nothing in particular. Zack leaned against the opposite wall, Alexa lounging in his lap. Unable to sit still, Janice paced back and forth between uneven stacks of covered doors, fighting the desire to straighten them and mulling over the day’s events.

  “What does she do in that room all day?” asked Janice. “What is with her obsession with doors? Why have we never heard of her until now? How do we even know she’s our aunt?”

  “Miss Guacaladilla checked her out—” began Zack.

  “How do we know she isn’t in on it, too?” Janice interrupted, not about to let Zack deflate her suspicions. “And Mr. Groskowsky!”

  “Who?” asked Alexa.

  “The sweaty lawyer guy,” answered Sydney.

  “Maybe they’re working together,” continued Janice. “One big, happy conspiracy.”

  “Why?” asked Zack. “Seriously, Janice. Why?”

  “Who knows? We have no idea what goes on in this place! Maybe they’re planning on…on…I don’t know! Turning us into zombies! Or…or…”

  “Or maybe Aunt Gladys is a space alien?” teased Zack. “Or a vampire? Or a diabolical gnome?”

  Janice stopped pacing and glared at her brother.

  “You’re being paranoid, Janice. Again.”

  Zack let the statement hang in the air. Janice, deflated, stopped pacing and leaned against a stack of doors. Maybe she was being paranoid, but could they blame her? After what they’d all been through? The fire. Dad. A better question was, why weren’t they being paranoid?

  She looked around at her siblings and answered her own question. They’re too depressed to be paranoid, she thought.

  Suddenly, she was determined to lift everyone out of their funk. They needed a distraction. Scanning the room, her eyes settled on the stack of doors by her side. She lifted the sheet covering them and let a smile play on her lips.

  “What are you doing?” asked Zack. “Aunt Gladys told us to leave the doors alone.”

  Janice smiled. “She did, didn’t she?” With a flourish, she whipped the sheet off and flung it aside. “Who’s up for a ride?”

  “Bad idea.” Zack shook his head and crossed his arms.

  “Quit being a baby,” remarked Sydney as she helped Janice lug one of the doors—a simple, flat slab of wood—to the top of the stairs leading down to the second floor.

  “I’m not being a baby! This is dumb and dangerous and stupid and—”

  “And it’s gonna be a ton of fun,” finished Sydney.

  Janice beamed. Her sisters, at least, liked her idea. Who cared if Zack was being a stick-in-the-mud?

  “You’re going to get hurt,” said Zack.

  “I never get hurt,” replied Sydney. She and Janice eased the door just over the edge of the stairs, and Sydney jumped on.

  “Hey! It was my idea!” complained Janice.

  “We need to test it out,” Sydney replied. “I’m a professional. Give me a push.”

  Janice sighed, then bent down into a shoving position.

  “Guys, please,” begged Zack. “You’re gonna break something. Like a leg.”

  Janice frowned as the reality of what she was about to do—push her sister down a flight of stairs—hit home. But then she saw Sydney eagerly waiting and tossed caution to the wind.

  “Torpedo…launch!” she yelled.

  With a quick shove, the door flopped over and slid effortlessly down the stairs, crashing at the bottom and sending Sydney tumbling head over heels onto her bedroll, which they’d placed below to provide a soft landing. The entire ride took all of three seconds.

  “Sydney?” asked Janice. “Sydney, you okay?”

  Sydney lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, a huge grin on her face.

  “That! Was! Awesome!”

  Janice swelled w
ith pride and turned to Zack. “She survived.”

  “Whatever. Kill yourselves if you want. Come on, Alexa. Let’s go.” He grabbed his little sister’s hand, but she tugged it free.

  “I want to ride!” she said.

  “No way,” he argued. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Sydney’s fine!” countered Alexa. “Right, Sydney?”

  “You bet! Janice! Help me bring this back up!”

  Janice trounced down the steps to help carry the door-sled back to the top, where they found Alexa, arms crossed and face flushed, stomping on the floor.

  “—I am too!” she ranted.

  “You are not!” ranted Zack right back at her. “You’re too little and—”

  Janice winced, knowing Zack had just said exactly the wrong thing.

  “I am not little!” screamed a defiant Alexa, sitting down on the door. “Somebody push me!”

  Zack quickly stomped his foot down, holding the door in place. “Get off of there, Alexa!”

  “Or what?” asked Janice, growing more and more annoyed at her brother. “Are you going to ground her? Send her to her room? Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  “Somebody has to look out for this family!” yelled Zack.

  “Give it up, Zack!” retorted Janice. “You’re not Dad!”

  Zack’s eyes bulged, his cheeks flushed, and Janice was pretty sure steam billowed out of his ears. She stepped back, but he followed step for step, jabbing his finger into her chest. “Don’t you ever—”

  He never finished his sentence.

  A cry of terror shook the room, and everyone watched as, almost in slow motion, the door-sled—released by Zack’s foot—tore down the stairs, taking an utterly unprepared Alexa with it. Her face was a mask of pure fright, and her siblings’ hearts leaped into their throats as the three-second slide felt like five hours of horror.

  There was a crash. There was a tumble. There was Alexa lying at the bottom of the stairs. She looked around for a moment, stunned, before erupting in a hysterical cry, bringing all three siblings to her side.

  “Alexa!” they screamed as one.

  She continued to wail the wail of a young child in pain. Between gasps, she managed to inform everyone that her leg was in absolute agony. After sending Sydney off to find Aunt Gladys, Zack cradled his little sister and tried to soothe the hysteria out of her.