by Dan Poblocki
Dash held up his pages. “Aloysius was mute. He had a sweet tooth. The director wrote that he contaminated Aloysius’s favorite candies with a dye that stained his mouth and made him ill.” Dash looked sick himself. “I guess that was the black gunk I found inside the rabbit mask.”
“ ‘Irving loves being social and playing games,’ ” read Dylan. He cringed as he scanned what was on his page. “The director forced Irving to wear cuffs and chains around his ankles to stop him. Just like the kid I saw in the bear mask.”
“What about your folder, Azumi?” asked Marcus. “What did you find?”
Azumi’s face was frozen. When she spoke, her voice was tight and measured. “Esme missed her older sister,” she said. Her eyes glinted with a flash of something dangerous, and for a moment, Poppy felt frightened to sit beside her. “Mr. Caldwell would not allow her to send letters. To respond at all. Even though she begged and begged and begged him. Esme was so angry, she wished she could … ” Azumi glanced up, her vision clearing. “She must have been the one I saw in the ape mask.”
After Poppy had heard all of this, she was nauseated. She couldn’t imagine that this man—who shared her own last name—might possibly be related to her. The monster. “There’s one thing no one’s brought up yet,” she said. The others watched her expectantly. “These pages were signed decades ago. If the kids who we encountered today are the same ones from this folder … well … you all know what that means, right?”
“You said earlier that you thought the house was haunted,” Dylan answered slowly. “I guess we’ve found our ghosts.”
“I don’t understand,” said Marcus. “How could someone be so horrible to a bunch of kids?”
“Because people can be horrible,” said Poppy, her face like stone. “They don’t need reasons.”
“No wonder they’re all so angry,” said Dylan. “They’ve been hurt.”
“Hurt is not the word I’d use,” said Poppy. “It’s way worse than that.”
“Sorry if I don’t have too much sympathy for them at this point,” said Dash, and Azumi nodded emphatically. “Especially if they’re the ones who brought us here.”
“Someone contacted us,” said Dylan.
“Can ghosts use the Internet?” asked Dash. “Can they mail letters?”
Dylan shrugged, looking off into the darkness surrounding them. “I don’t know. It was just a thought.”
“Let’s say Dash is right,” said Marcus. Dylan nudged his brother’s shoulder playfully, and Dash managed a brief smile. Marcus cleared his throat and went on. “Let’s say these orphans—”
“The Specials,” said Dash.
“Right,” said Marcus. “The Specials. Let’s say they’re the ones who wanted us to come to Larkspur.” He paused, seeming lost in thought. “Why us? What’s so special about us?”
“Well, Dash and me are kind of famous,” said Dylan.
“Does that really make you special though?” asked Azumi, raising an eyebrow.
“Some people think so,” Dash said.
“I’m still confused about the animal masks,” said Poppy.
“The director wrote something about that too.” Azumi sorted through Esme’s file again. “Here it is.” She read, “ ‘The masks remove the children’s identities. Whenever they glance in the mirror, they shall see nothing of their past. And whatever future they try to imagine shall be devoid of malignant expectation. These children will be my empty vessels. And I shall fill them with wonder.’ ” Azumi’s laugh was dry as dust. “Wonder,” she spat, as if rejecting the word. “Mr. Caldwell had a pretty warped sense of it.”
Poppy had been quiet, but she had been thinking hard. She frowned, turning the idea over again and again in her head. When she finally spoke, she wasn’t loud, but what she said made the group sit up and listen. “What I think is more important is the connection that we have with the Specials.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dylan.
“Five of them, five of us, right?” said Poppy. “There’s Matilda and me. She loved her storybooks. And my books are my favorite treasure. Esme Alonso, the girl in the ape mask, was trying to reach out to her sister. And … and Azumi’s sister went missing. That’s another connection.” Azumi squeezed her eyes shut in rejection. Poppy moved on. “Then there’s you, Marcus, and Randolph Hanson. Both musicians. Both prodigies.”
“What about us?” asked Dylan. “Am I supposed to be like the kid named Irving? The chained-up bear? What are you implying?”
“You are pretty charismatic,” said Dash with a grin, peering over at Irving’s paperwork. “ ‘Social, and friendly, and at times persuasive.’ ”
Poppy held back surprised laughter while Dylan glared at her. He turned to his brother with a smirk. “If that’s the case, then you’re the mute one.”
Dash didn’t take the bait. “Well, I don’t talk that much, it’s true.”
Azumi’s mouth was a flat line. “So we are like the Specials,” she said.
“But what do they want with us?” asked Dash.
“Maybe they want us to take their places,” said Dylan. “Maybe, like, if they trap us here, they can go free.”
“We already are trapped,” said Azumi. “And they haven’t gone anywhere.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe they want us dead.”
Dash went gray and jumped to his feet. “DON’T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!”
“Hey!” Dylan knocked his brother with his elbow, tossing a look that said Chill. Dash was still ashen, but he sat back down.
“We’re lucky to have this folder,” Dylan said. “Thanks, Poppy.” He shuffled through the pages lying between them. Poppy blushed, squeezing her hands in her lap. “I don’t think they expected us to get ahold of it,” he added.
“Or maybe they did,” said Azumi. “And it’s filled with a bunch of lies.” Everyone stared at her for a few seconds. “What? Did I say something funny?”
“There’s something else we’re missing,” said Poppy, trying to sound upbeat. “Something that’s not in this file. We haven’t talked about how we are connected. The five of us.”
“Sounds like you have another idea,” said Marcus.
“Poppy’s had a lot of good ideas, actually,” said Dash. “If we stick with her, we might actually get out of this awful place.”
Poppy felt herself flush red. She glanced around the group and realized that everyone was paying attention to her, as if she’d suddenly become their leader. This had never happened before, not in school, not at the group home, not anywhere.
“Spit it out, Poppy,” said Azumi. “We don’t have all day.”
That same pinging sound echoed out from the darkness again. No one gave it a thought, until a few seconds later, when it was followed by another noise. A scraping, like something being dragged across the floor. And very, very close.
EVERYONE LEAPT TO their feet and huddled in the center of the rug, crushing some of the file pages beneath them. They peered out anxiously through the bars of the cage, searching the ocean of black for movement.
“Someone’s coming,” whispered Azumi. “I told you.”
The overhead lamp dimmed slightly. “No, no, no!” Poppy whimpered, and Dylan shushed her. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.
There was movement in the distance, four figures emerging from the murk, closing in on them from every side of the elevator. The cage had never been a refuge. Instead, like a phosphorescent glow in the deepest depths, its lamp had created a lure. And now the predators had arrived. The scraping sounds got louder from all directions, as the figures marched slowly toward the elevator, a bull’s-eye with an ever-shrinking circumference.
“Is it them?” asked Dash. “Is it the Specials?”
Marcus leaned forward and squinted, trying to make out the figures in the gloom. He snapped back into the middle of the huddle, as if for protection. “No,” he said. “It’s something else.” The elevator lamp cast light only about a dozen feet from where they stood. And as the shapes c
ame closer, their details were finally apparent.
“It’s us,” whispered Poppy, an echo of what Marcus had said in the game room hours earlier.
Approaching the cage were four papier-mâché figures like the ones that Azumi had pulled down from the mantel in the game room. But these dolls were as tall as the kids themselves. With their joints locked in place, the figures moved stiffly, swinging their weight from side to side, each of them dragging one foot and then the other in a syncopated rhythm.
There were the two identical figures painted light brown, dressed in shorts, graphic T-shirts, and sandals. Brothers. Around the corner from them, a girl painted pale pink hitched and swayed. Splotchy freckles covered her cheeks, and across her torso was the strap of a pink satchel. Adjacent to her was the boy with red hair. Around each of their necks hung thick white cords dragging along the floor behind them. Nooses. The figures moved slowly, purposefully, sure of themselves, as if they knew they had all the time in the world.
“What do we do?” asked Dash in a strangled whisper
Dylan broke toward the OTIS device in the corner. “Up or down?” he asked.
“Up!” yelled Azumi.
“Down!” screamed Poppy at the same time.
Dylan tried to push the knob left, but the little sphere came off in his hand. The elevator didn’t move. Panicked, Dash grasped at the end of the rod, but he only ended up cutting the tips of his fingers. The figures were within several feet. Poppy yanked the twins back into the center of the car, away from the walls of the cage.
Dash’s whisper was practically inaudible now, as if he was mute with fear. “What do we do?” he repeated.
“Stay calm,” said Poppy, thinking furiously. “I mean, these things are made out of paper. Empty vessels. Right? What could they possibly do to us?” But she had spoken too soon. The Poppy figure’s right arm was severed below the elbow. Her words from the game room came back to haunt her. You don’t play with them. You break them. From the hole in the plaster dangled an ashen arm, its fingers wiggling slightly.
As if reading Poppy’s mind, Azumi said, “Those things aren’t empty.”
MARCUS TURNED FROM the horror of the Poppy figure to end up face-to-face with his own, staring in at him from the other side of the brass bars. He steadied his feet, trying to find the lowest point of balance. Adrenaline spiked through him. He was going to have to fight.
The elevator was surrounded now, the figures pressed tight against the cage. The thing inside the Poppy figure raised its hand from the broken sleeve with a stifled groan and grabbed one of the bars.
The other figures began to groan too, twisting their limbs to crack out of the plaster, turning necks, bending elbows. Chunks of papier-mâché crumbled and fell to the floor.
The puppeteers were revealed. The Specials.
It was as Poppy had guessed. Matilda had come for Poppy, Randolph for Marcus, Irving for Dylan, and Aloysius and his black gash of a mouth had come for Dash. The cat, the dog, the bear, and the rabbit. Their eyes were empty pits.
For a few seconds, the masked orphans, the Specials, watched the group in stillness and silence. Dust coated their clothes and skin, clouds of it settling onto the black floor beneath them. Then, all at once, they attacked.
The bars of the cage clanged as the Specials threw themselves at them, screaming and shrieking. They yanked at the metal, banging their heads, whipping their arms and legs in a frenzy of movement.
Azumi, Poppy, Marcus, Dash, and Dylan clung to one another, some of them whimpering, some too stunned to make a sound. The metal around them began to squeal and cry as the brass bars bent under the pressure of the attack, making space for the Specials to reach farther inside. Clawlike fingers swiped at the group. Poppy screamed as Matilda got close enough to pull out a hank of her hair.
“They’re going to tear us to pieces!” shouted Azumi. The others cringed in fear.
“That’s not going to happen!” Poppy yelled. “We have to fight them! NOW!” And the kids inside the elevator broke apart.
Poppy and the twins flung themselves at their orphans, while Marcus spun away from the bars as the dog boy caught his jacket, and Azumi slipped quietly toward the elevator door.
“You came,” said Matilda’s muffled voice as she swiped at Poppy’s face. “You actually came.”
With the flat of her palm, Poppy smacked Matilda away from the wall of the cage. “I don’t know you!” she shouted. Matilda laughed and swiped for Poppy again.
Aloysius and Irving tore at the twins’ T-shirts, twisting the hems in their clenched fists.
Dash shoved himself into Aloysius’s arm, pinning it against a bar. Irving released Dylan and grabbed for Dash, but Dash ducked away.
Out of reach of the orphans, Dash noticed Dylan’s whole body stiffening. He’s going to have another attack!
“DYLAN!” he yelled. He released Aloysius and jumped back, yanking his brother into the center of the cage.
Dylan snapped out of it. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.
Aloysius lunged, his hand coming perilously close to Dylan’s face. Dash kicked out at him and then at Irving, who hissed and roared like the bear whose head he was wearing.
Marcus was struggling to rip his jacket away from Randolph’s clutching fingers when he saw Azumi at the cage door, pulling frantically at the latch. “Azumi!” he shouted, yanking himself fiercely away from the dog boy. He flew across the cage, knocking her away. “What are you doing?!” he said. “You could let them in!”
Azumi blinked, as if coming out of a trance. She nodded. “We need to run.”
“Run where?” he asked. “They’re too fast. They’ll catch us.”
A noise above startled them. Randolph had leapt up above them, climbing up the bars of the elevator cage to the top. Marcus cowered in the center of the cage, covering his head and ducking to avoid Randolph’s reach. Azumi jumped up and swiped at the boy, smacking his hand away. Randolph yowled, and Azumi shrieked, “Leave us alone, you nasty thing!”
Grabbing Poppy’s bag, Matilda released a muted chuckle. She pulled herself violently backward, slamming Poppy’s body into the cage. Poppy grunted and then straightened her shoulders to keep from tumbling out into the shadows. Clasping the bars, she struggled to stay upright.
All around her, the others were shouting, and Poppy wished she could help them. Everything was happening so fast. If it lasted much longer, the orphans would be inside the cage and Azumi’s prediction would come true—the Specials would tear the group apart, as easily as Poppy had torn the arm off the papier-mâché doll. There’s got to be a way to escape this, she thought, her brain spinning. If we all huddle in the center of the cage … If we take them one at a time …
But then Matilda got Poppy’s hair in her hands again and jerked as hard as she could. Poppy screamed, feeling pinpricks of pain as follicles were torn from her scalp. Without thinking, Poppy reached through the bars and grabbed hold of the cat mask. She whipped herself backward, the mask still in her hands.
Matilda yelped and stumbled, holding her hands in front of her face. Poppy flung the mask to the floor of the elevator, steadying herself for the next round. But to Poppy’s surprise, Matilda lowered her hands, revealing a shocked and horrified expression. Her icy eyes were frightened, her pale skin covered in patchy blotches of plaster.
The battle was still raging around them, but a stillness descended upon the two girls, something that Poppy was certain only they could feel. They stared into each other’s eyes. Matilda’s were blue and glistening. Seeing past the mask for the first time, Poppy felt a shock. There was a real girl inside, not just a monster. All of these orphans were real kids. Dead kids, probably, but real kids nonetheless. Poppy sensed a kind of desperation emanating from the girl, as if she expected that this respite would not last long.
It was then that Poppy realized the fighting had stopped. Turning, she noticed both groups were staring at her—the orphans and her friends.
T
he other three Specials, the ones still wearing masks, stepped away from the cage and toward Matilda.
“No!” said Matilda. The desperation on her face made Poppy sick. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone!” The three leapt upon Matilda, dragging her to the ground as she flailed and screamed, then huddled over her in a mass. It looks like wolves feeding, thought Poppy. She wanted to squeeze through the bars and help the poor girl, but she knew she couldn’t take the time.
“Let’s go!” said Poppy. She pushed through the group toward the elevator door. Unhooking the latch, she dragged the heavy accordion springs back slowly, slightly, opening a small gap. One by one, they all slipped out into the mysterious darkness that surrounded the cage.
They ran blindly for a while until Marcus stopped them. “Hold on. Where are we?”
“Yeah,” said Azumi. “Poppy, which way should we go?”
Looking over her shoulder, Poppy could see the Specials rising from their spot on the floor. From their center, Matilda pushed her way out. She was wearing the cat mask once again. Poppy blinked. The mask that Poppy had torn from her face was still lying on the rug inside the elevator car. Where had this new mask come from?
A disturbing idea slithered into Poppy’s skull: The mask had grown back.
Matilda darted forward. The others followed, backlit now by the elevator’s lamp, making them into featureless hunters.
“It doesn’t matter which way,” said Poppy, grabbing Azumi by the hand. “Just run!”
THEY SPRINTED THROUGH what seemed like endless dark.
They’d left the glow of the elevator’s lamp, and Dash and Dylan were using their phones’ flashlights to reveal the next few feet of floor, which sloped upward at a steep angle. As far as everyone could see, there were no walls, no furniture, nothing around them. It was as though the house had not yet dreamed up features for wherever they were headed.
Finally, Poppy stumbled over the edge of a rug and nearly shrieked with joy at seeing something familiar. With every step, more details of the house appeared around her, lit by the ghostly glow of the group’s flashlights. There was a baseboard. The ceiling. An overturned wicker chair. A toy fire truck. Ahead, at the end of what was now a hallway, a closed door was rimmed with a halo of light.
