by Dan Poblocki
Dash tried to skirt the cat girl, to make it back toward Azumi too, but the cat snarled and leaned toward him, threatening to charge.
“The mask!” Dash shouted, ducking Matilda’s fist. “Azumi, you have to take off Esme’s mask!”
The girl in the chimp mask lunged for Azumi, but Azumi leaned in to the attack, reaching her arms around Esme. She hugged her with one arm, and with the other, she raked her fingers across the chimp mask, catching the end and tossing it over the railing. Esme gasped and went rigid. Azumi took a small step back and looked up into the eyes of the dark-haired girl standing before her. They were filled with fear and confusion.
The other Specials stopped what they were doing, staring in awe.
Cyrus slumped against the railing, struggling for breath, barely able to move.
“Give her the notebook, Azumi!” said Poppy.
“I … I’m so sorry for what I did to you,” said Esme, her voice hoarse. “I tried to stop it. I really did. But this place … Don’t trust anyone. Not even yourself.”
Azumi didn’t know how to answer. Panting, she shoved the notebook into Esme’s hands.
A grin blossomed on Esme’s face. She flipped the notebook open, gasping at the handwriting she’d placed there decades earlier. Dear Sister … She turned page after page, her smile growing wider. Then, hugging the book to her chest so tightly she almost buried herself in it, she started to fade away, just as Randolph had done when Marcus had given him the harmonica. Colors leached from her body, like watercolor paint from wet paper, and soon, all that was left of her was a bit of soft laughter. Before Azumi could say good-bye, the wind had taken that away too.
Matilda howled in frustration, snapping the other Specials back into action. She and Aloysius turned toward Cyrus. Black goo dribbled from the rabbit mask, and the old man sputtered and moaned. The cat girl rushed forward as Aloysius shoved Cyrus again toward the edge of the tower.
“Stop!” cried Poppy. “Leave him alone!” But even as she pushed away from the wall, her bag snagged on one of the empty gilt frames, and she tripped, landing hard on her side.
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and the noise of the brawl quieted as a girl appeared, impossibly, on the canvas. It was Poppy’s Girl—her cousin, Connie Caldwell—though she flickered in and out of focus, and her expression was pained, as if it took tremendous effort to be there at all.
She reached out her hands to Poppy, like she had in the mirror at Thursday’s Hope so many times, but this time, instead of a strange object, she held a small black notebook. Cyrus’s journal!
“Is that what he needs?” Poppy gasped.
But Connie was gone.
Irving saw the notebook in Poppy’s hands and lurched over to Cyrus before she could get there, climbing the railing and looping the chains from around his ankle over the old man’s neck.
“Nooo!” Poppy screamed, jumping up and thrusting the journal into Cyrus’s hands. He looked down in awe, for just a second, until his feet slipped out from under him. Irving, Aloysius, and Cyrus tumbled over the railing together and disappeared, screaming as they fell.
THE AIR GREW still. Dash clutched at his scalp. And that’s when he noticed another kid watching from the top of the stairs. This new kid was wearing a mask too—the sad clown who’d chased him through the hallway. Who was he?
Matilda rushed over to the boy and took his hand.
Besides the red-and-black shirt he wore, the clown-faced boy was dressed in the exact same clothes that Dylan had been wearing earlier. A T-shirt. Shorts. Sandals.
Dash’s stomach flipped. No, this had to be another trick. Just like what the house had done with Esme, how it had made her appear as Azumi, just to mess with everyone, to scare them and confuse them. To give Dash hope before whisking it away again.
Matilda and the boy slipped quickly back down the stairs, as if they might save Aloysius and Irving somehow.
“Wait!” Dash called out. Poppy grabbed on to his shoulder before he could follow them. “Dylan,” he said to her. “I think he was one of them. He was wearing that creepy clown mask. They’re getting away. She has him!”
Poppy turned to Azumi and Marcus, who were cowering against the far railing. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.”
Dash didn’t wait for an answer. He hurried down into the darkness.
“Poppy!” Azumi screamed.
Poppy looked over her shoulder at Azumi. “I have to go. I made a promise.”
A moment later, Poppy was gone.
A sudden wind whipped harshly through the balcony.
“I didn’t know who to believe,” said Marcus. Azumi skidded away from him, shaking her head. “It was a trick. She tricked me! You know what that feels like. You were part of it. She looked just like you!”
“Marcus, stop talking,” said Azumi, holding up her hand as if that could keep him at bay. “I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”
A damp warmth coated Marcus’s cheeks. He touched his face and realized that he was crying. “I’m so sorry. Please.”
Azumi shuddered and then stood, glancing toward the stairs that Dash and Poppy had descended. “I can’t believe they left us. I can’t believe they followed those awful Specials.” Looking at Marcus, she said, “All of you are just so … ”
“We’re scared,” said Marcus. “Fear makes you do stupid things.”
“It makes you do stupid things,” said Azumi. “Really stupid things.” She glanced around, taking in the darkening horizon. “I’m not staying here.” She released a slow, shaky breath, and then rubbed at her arms, bending her elbows and stretching her shoulders as if gauging her level of pain. “So which would be stupider: going after Poppy and Dash, or climbing down this tower?”
“You seriously want my opinion?” asked Marcus. Azumi nodded, her face a blank slate. “I think climbing down the tower would be a really bad idea right now.”
“I agree,” said Azumi. She grasped the edge of the railing and slung one leg and then the other over, clinging to the outside edge of the balcony.
“Azumi, what are you doing?!” Marcus cried out.
“Getting away from you,” she said, and then began to lower herself down the precipice.
Dash and Poppy reached the floor of the gallery as Matilda slipped beneath the floor’s hatch. Candlelight flickered up through the hole, painting an abstracted rectangle on the wall to their right. Around them, the familiar pulsing sound echoed softly from Frederick’s empty frames. Whump-whump. Whump-whump. Whump-whump.
A floorboard creaked across the room, and Dash and Poppy paused, looking back.
The boy in the clown mask stepped forward. Dash held up his phone, shining the flashlight at him. “You shouldn’t be here,” said the boy. The voice was muffled, but there was something else about it that made Dash wonder if someone other than his brother was using it to speak through Dylan’s mouth. “You’re going to ruin the scene.”
“Dylan,” said Dash, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why are you wearing that?”
“For the movie, dum-dum.” Dylan chuckled. “You couldn’t find me. But I’ve been watching you. Pretty funny when I grabbed your leg and you fell down those steps. You almost made it look real.”
“You did that to him?” asked Poppy.
“The director really liked it,” said Dylan. “He wants more.”
“You hurt me!” Dash raised his crutch to show Dylan. “I busted up my arms and twisted my ankle!”
“I could’ve made it look better than that,” said Dylan. “But you have your role now, and I have mine.”
“Why are you acting like this?” asked Dash. “I get that you’re mad at me, but—”
“Mad at you?” The clown mask tilted. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Dash pressed his lips together, afraid to answer, afraid to bring back the memories from the dressing room accident.
Poppy stepped forward. “Dylan, come up to
the balcony with us. It’s not safe here.”
“You got that right,” said Dylan.
“What do you mean?”
Dylan came closer. “We didn’t like it when the old man was talking to you. He’s not supposed to tell. And you shouldn’t listen.” His voice growled out from behind the clown’s wide dark frown. He sprinted toward them, hands clenched into fists.
Poppy ducked the blow, but Dash leaned in to it, as if to knock Dylan off-balance. His crutch dropped to the floor. Dylan’s forearm caught Dash’s throat, and then Dash dropped too. Dylan pounced, grinding his knee into his brother’s back. Dash screamed. Poppy lurched and shoved at Dylan’s side, but it was like hitting at a small boulder.
“The mask, Poppy!” yelled Dash, his face smashed into the floor. “Get it off him.”
Poppy pressed her fingers into the hollow gap just below Dylan’s jawline, but he jerked away. Her grip slipped, and she flew backward, rolling toward the open hatch. Imagining Matilda coming up to claw at her, she scooted against the wall, away from the fighting twins.
Still crushing Dash’s back with his knee, Dylan glanced at her. “Boo-hoo-hoo,” he said, followed by a fake, almost-mocking wail. “My mask is stuck. Take it off me, Dash. Take it off! What am I going to doooo?” He twisted his knee, screaming a high-pitched cackle.
Dash groaned. “Poppy, help!” He reached out to her as Dylan pounded his elbow into Dash’s shoulder. “Auuggh!” he shouted in pain.
As Poppy scrambled to her feet, her hand brushed against the crutch lying on the floor. She picked it up and swung it at Dylan.
Wham!
The impact sent shivers up Poppy’s arms, and Dylan flew off his brother’s back, landing several feet away.
“Poppy!” Dash croaked, rolling over to stare at his brother’s limp body. “What did you do?”
“I-I helped.” She rushed to Dash and propped one of his arms over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. He was going to … ” Then she rose, bringing him up with her. She handed him the crutch. Dash winced as he leaned on it. “I didn’t know what he was going to do to you.”
Dash caught his breath as he peered at Dylan, not wanting to get too close. “He’s not okay.”
“In more ways than one,” Poppy whispered. “What now?”
Dash limped over and then bent down. He plucked the mask away from Dylan’s face. His brother was flat on his back, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Dylan, I’m so sorry,” said Dash, his breath ragged. His fingertips felt numb, and he tossed the mask into a dark corner of the room.
Dylan stirred; his arms shifted and his knees bent slightly. His eyes focused on Dash. Then they grew wide with recognition, filling with tears. “Dash? Is that you?”
Dash tried to lean toward his brother, but Poppy clung to his elbow, forcing him to keep still. “Yes, it’s me,” said Dash, trying not to choke as his throat clenched with guilt. “Are you all right?”
“Everything hurts,” said Dylan, trying to sit up. “Where are we?”
“We’re still in Larkspur. But we’re going to get you out.”
“You have to come with us, Dylan,” said Poppy. “Do you think you can stand?”
“Thank you,” said Dylan. “I knew you’d find me, Dash. I knew you’d never leave me alone. I’ve been so scared. This house, it’s … it’s a bad place.”
“We know,” said Dash, extending his hand. “We’ve just started to understand exactly how bad it is.”
Dylan reached out and squeezed Dash’s wrist. “You know the way out? There’s an exit?”
“The important thing right now is to get you away from the Specials,” said Poppy. “They did something to you, but we’re going to fix it.”
“You’re going to fix me?” asked Dylan, still clinging to his brother’s wrist. “You really think you can do that?”
“Ow,” said Dash. “You’re squeezing too hard.”
“Oh! I’m sorry!” said Dylan said. But then he released a laugh so low and languorous that it chilled Poppy’s bones.
“Let go of me!” shouted Dash, tensing with panic, like an animal caught in a hunter’s snare.
Dylan glared at them. “You think you can fix me? Erase the past? Start fresh?” He chuckled again. His eyes were dim and almost gray. It was not Dylan staring at them now, but something else. “After what you did? You’re so clueless. You have no idea what’s going on here.”
Poppy pulled at Dash’s shoulders as he yanked himself backward, freeing himself from Dylan’s grasp. “No, Dylan,” Dash whispered. “No, no, no.”
Dylan’s mouth began to droop, his skin changing into the artificial white of the clown’s makeup. His eyes sank back into his skull, turning into pitch-black pools. “But don’t worry,” Dylan added. “You’ll learn soon enough.”
“Don’t come near us!” said Poppy. “Please!”
Dylan rose to his feet and stepped toward them. “But I thought you were going to fix me. Fix me, Dash. I need you, little brother.”
Dash held up his crutch, poking Dylan toward the hole in the floor.
“Dash … No … Please! What are you doing?”
Poppy grabbed Dash’s arm and shoved it forward, knocking the crutch into Dylan’s chest. Dylan fell backward, his feet scrambling at the edge of the hatch, and he was gone. A crash echoed out from below, followed by a harsh scream.
“Dylan!” Dash cried.
“He was going to hurt you,” said Poppy. “And we don’t know what it is that he needs. Not yet.”
“He’s broken,” said Dash, leaning on his crutch.
“This is just a setback,” said Poppy. “We can still help him.”
“But how?” asked Dash. “I knew … I knew—ever since I fell down the stairs—that it was Dylan who tripped me. It was Dylan who laughed. It was Dylan who chased me and Azumi through that hallway, to the door with the nails in it. I didn’t want to believe, but Moriko was right. Something in this house has twisted my brother. He’s had a psychic break. Maybe it’s happening to all of us. Maybe it’s already happened.”
Poppy shook her head, but Dash rushed on, “I was so horrible to you downstairs! The things I said … It wasn’t fair. I just felt so much … rage. That’s not who I want to be.”
“Then don’t be that person anymore,” said Poppy, taking his hand. “Just because something is broken doesn’t mean it can’t be put back together again.”
There was a scuffling noise from below, and Poppy hurriedly flipped the hatch shut, hoping it would give them even a tiny head start.
She and Dash turned away from where Dylan had fallen and raced toward the staircase back up to the balcony.
“THEY’RE COMING!” POPPY shouted as she stepped back onto the rooftop. But when she looked around, she realized that Marcus and Azumi were gone.
“Do you think they jumped?” asked Dash, swiping away the tears and blood that had gathered just above his lip.
“Jump? They’d have to be—” Crazy … Poppy flew toward the railing that faced the river. The ground below seemed very far away—much higher than the five stories they’d climbed. Nobody was down there, not even Cyrus. “Where did they go?”
A commotion rang out from behind them—the hatch a floor below burst open.
“Poppy, we need to move!”
Without thinking, Poppy lifted herself up onto the stone railing. It was just wide enough for her to find her balance. She reached down to help Dash with his crutch. They stood together on a few inches of ledge, at the highest point in Larkspur, nothing behind them but air, nothing protecting them from a fall. The stars seemed to throb overhead in time with the beating of Poppy’s heart. She closed her eyes and bent her knees. Consolida, she thought, please protect us.
“Poppy!” A voice echoed into the evening. Poppy froze, clinging to Dash’s arm. “Over here!”
The voice seemed to be coming from their right. Edging to the corner of the railing, Poppy glanced down and saw Larkspur’s pitched slate roof just two levels belo
w. Azumi was crouched beside Marcus, who was clutching his knee. The two were perched inside a crevice where one of the gabled windows met the roof. “Be careful!” Azumi called. “Marcus fell. He hurt himself really bad!”
Poppy felt her stomach twist.
From the staircase there came a sudden crash, followed by the groaning of the iron steps as bodies barreled upward. The Specials burst out onto the rooftop again like wildcats released from a cage. Matilda had found Irving and Aloysius.
“Oh, no!” said Dash.
Poppy felt the messenger bag swaying at her side. “Do we fight them?”
“I don’t think I can,” said Dash. “My ankle—”
“Lower yourselves down,” Azumi called to them. “Quickly!”
The Specials paused by the stairs, as if they were waiting for something. Then Poppy gasped as Dylan came slowly up the stairs behind them, his clown mask in place, his shoulders squared as if he was refreshed, ready for war. He was one of the Specials now. The whole group zeroed in on Poppy and Dash, their plastic faces turning as one, their hollow eyes like pits.
Poppy screamed.
Dash cried out, “Leave us alone!”
“The stonework is like a ladder!” said Azumi. “You can do it!”
“O-okay,” Poppy choked out. She and Dash lowered themselves down, looking for the next outcroppings they could step on. Footfalls rang out as the Specials and Dylan rushed toward them from across the balcony. A gust of wind nearly knocked Poppy off-balance, and she clung more tightly to the base of the railing’s stone posts.
Then the cat mask appeared, pressed into the space between the posts right in front of Poppy. Matilda reached through, her fingernails swiping at Poppy’s face.
“Careful!” Dash shouted.
Poppy slipped down, catching herself on an ornamental ledge a couple of feet below, pressing her body against the stone wall. When Dash did the same, the crutch fell from his grip. It flew away, twisting in the wind, before disappearing around the side of the tower.
Glancing up, Poppy saw Matilda, Aloysius, Irving, and Dylan climbing over the railing. They weren’t going to stop. They couldn’t stop, she knew. Something in the house wouldn’t let them.
