No Way Out

by Dan Poblocki

  “We all want that, Azumi,” said Dash, suddenly concerned. “We’re going to get there.”

  “Some of us don’t have a home,” whispered Poppy. “Some of us thought this place would become home.”

  “If you want to stay so bad, I’m sure your ancestors would be happy to have you,” said Dash. “You could keep Dylan company.”

  Poppy glared at him. She gathered up the tape and the recorder, then stomped toward the stairs.

  “Am I wrong?” Dash took Azumi’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “We already decided that Dylan’s too lost to save. He has to stay here. We don’t, thank goodness. But you keep finding ways to stop us, Poppy. First, the games tent. Then the mirror maze. Now we’re in a barn, talking to ghosts again, instead of looking for the driveway.”

  At the bottom of the staircase, Poppy crossed her arms and looked up at them. “That’s not fair.” Her voice was surprisingly calm. It was almost creepy. Was something controlling her? Azumi wondered. “I’m not the only one making choices here,” Poppy went on. Dash scoffed, throwing back his head. “You decided to move on without Dylan. Not me, Dash. I haven’t told you to do anything.”

  Azumi edged her way carefully down the steps. Dash was close behind. It felt like she was caught in the middle of an argument between her parents. She wished her parents were here. Then she wouldn’t have to be the mediator between these two. The bickering was becoming exhausting.

  “Come on,” said Dash, brushing by Poppy and heading toward the wide doorway out toward the meadow.

  Lightning flashed, framing the doorway outside as a blinding rectangle that burned Azumi’s eyes.

  Three figures stood in the distance, a dozen yards up the grassy hill. Watching. Three masks—the bear, the cat, and the clown—there and then gone.

  “What’s wrong?” Poppy asked.

  “They’re out there,” said Azumi. “Dylan and the Specials. I saw them.”

  “I don’t see anything,” said Dash, raising the sharp end of the bolt cutter toward the night. “Do you, Poppy?”

  Poppy shook her head, then glanced at Azumi as if she should be worried.

  Great, Azumi thought. Now they start to agree.

  STAY NEAR THE trees, Azumi thought. Stay hidden.

  They can see you. They can see everything that happens here.

  Every few steps, whenever Poppy and Dash weren’t looking, she glanced over her shoulder. She sensed that Matilda, Irving, and Dylan were close behind her, but she couldn’t make them out. And she didn’t want Poppy and Dash to think she was seeing things again.

  The driveway had to be coming up soon. Unless the land was stretching out before them, getting longer, like the hallways inside … Maybe Larkspur would never allow them to reach it.

  Her sister’s voice echoed in her mind. Leave the path …

  “There is no path,” Azumi whispered.

  “Did you say something?” asked Dash. Azumi shook her head, staring at the ground.

  “What’s that?” Poppy froze and pointed ahead. A light was glowing several yards into the woods.

  “A flashlight?” Dash suggested. “Is someone there?”

  “Shh,” said Poppy. “They might hear us.”

  “It’s not a flashlight,” said Azumi. “It’s flickering. Like a flame. Look. The shadows of the trees are moving. ”

  “Let’s get away from here,” said Dash, stepping out into the meadow.

  The sounds of the storm continued to blow across the landscape, and Azumi listened hard for the footsteps she knew were coming behind them. Wind rattled branches. Water dropped from the leaves, spattering the ground below. But underneath all of that, there was another sound.

  It was music. And it was coming from the place in the woods where the light was shining.

  “Is that what I think it is?” asked Dash. “Marcus?”

  “It’s his uncle’s melody,” said Poppy. She glanced at the others, as if seeking their permission. “Should we check it out?” A moment later, she and Dash headed toward the light.

  Azumi scrambled to follow.

  As they moved through the trees, they saw that the glow was coming from an antique lamp hanging on the wall of a large shed. Orange flame danced inside the glass. A door stood open beside it, and the tune echoed out from the darkness within.

  Dash put away his phone and grabbed the lantern, holding it up to reveal the shed’s interior. The rusty walls were made of corrugated tin. A large object sat near the rear wall, covered with a thick cloth.

  Before they knew it, all three of them had stepped inside.

  Poppy approached the canvas-covered object slowly, and the music grew louder with every step. Dash raised the lantern higher as he followed. She was relieved that he hadn’t yet called out for her to stop, that this was a terrible idea, that it must be another trap.

  When Poppy reached the object, the canvas buzzed with the melody. She grabbed the edge of the fabric and lifted it slightly. She saw what looked like a flat tire.

  The thing under the cloth was a car. The plinking sounds echoed inside its cabin.

  “Azumi, will you give me a hand?”

  Together, the girls lifted the canvas away, revealing a black, rusted hull. A whiff of ancient ash swirled around them. The vehicle looked like an antique, maybe a hundred years old, but its front had been crushed almost flat, and all the windows were gone. The inside of the car had been burned out. Twisted springs poked up from several rows of blackened seats.

  “Something’s in the back of the car,” said Dash, shining the light through a gap where the rear windshield had once been.

  Poppy flinched. How had she not noticed the shape sitting there, hidden beneath a white sheet? “Hello?” she said, her voice smaller than she’d meant it to be.

  Something was reaching out to her. Something that wanted to help.

  A metallic taste tingled at the back of her tongue.

  Poppy clutched the doorknob and then swung it open.

  “What are you doing?” Azumi cried out.

  “That’s it,” said Dash, moving the lantern away. “I’m out.”

  “Hold on,” said Poppy. Couldn’t they understand she had a deeper connection with this place than they did? “Why won’t you trust me?”

  “Because you keep doing stuff like this!” Dash yelled.

  “I trust you, Poppy,” Azumi said more softly, as if her words were aimed at Dash. “I just don’t trust anything else in this place.”

  Leaning into the cabin, Poppy’s eyes began to water. A terrible stench assaulted her sinuses.

  The tune went on and on. Up close, Poppy suddenly realized what kind of instrument was making the noise. A music box underneath that white sheet was playing.

  “Listen,” said Poppy, glancing out the windows at Azumi and Dash, who’d paired up near the back of the vehicle. “That’s what the recorder was saying. This is what it wanted us to hear.”

  Dash pursed his lips. Gripping his bolt cutter like a crutch, he placed the lantern on the ground.

  Azumi stared in wonder into the car. The music seemed to swell.

  Without waiting for an answer, Poppy grabbed the sheet and pulled it away.

  DASH BLINKED. THE shed had disappeared. He found himself standing beside a circular table in a sitting room off the large foyer of Larkspur House. The curtains were drawn, and around the room, candelabras flickered orange. Though the space was dim, he could see Poppy and Azumi standing on opposite sides of the table, the three of them forming a triangle. The girls looked as surprised as he felt, their mouths dropped in Os of horror.

  They were back inside again!

  “What’s going on?” he called out to the girls, but they both seemed too shocked to answer.

  It was then that Dash noticed they weren’t alone. At the head of the table was a woman dressed all in black, a floral cap pinned to her head and a long, thin veil covering her face. Five children were seated around the table, their hands linked, and all five had blindfo
lds tied around their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” echoed one of the boys.

  The woman in the veil shuddered. “Are you hearing the spirits, Gustav?” she asked him. The boy nodded. She glanced at the woman standing beside her and whispered, “We have visitors, Mrs. Caldwell.” Mrs. Caldwell clutched at her collar in surprise, her pale face flooding with color. The woman in the veil reached toward the center of the table, where Dash noticed a small, elaborately carved wooden box. She flipped it open and a familiar tune began to play—Marcus’s melody plinking out quietly into the space. “A gift from my grandmother,” the woman explained. “Music to protect against negative energies that may try to break the children’s concentration. It prevents lies.”

  It’s a vision, thought Dash. Like the one Poppy and Marcus experienced in the classroom earlier.

  “Can they see us?” whispered Azumi.

  Before Dash or Poppy could respond, one of the blindfolded girls whispered, “Can they see us?”

  The veiled woman jerked her head around. “We cannot see you. No.”

  “Who are you?” asked Poppy.

  “Who are you?” repeated another of the blindfolded girls.

  The veiled woman leaned back in her chair. “My name is Dagmar Spencer. These children are my wards: Fergus, Gustav, Kristof, Dawn, and Tatum. They are special. They translate communications from the beyond. We’ve come to help Mrs. Caldwell here at Larkspur House.”

  Here were the psychic medium and the kids who died in the car accident at Larkspur’s gate. Dagmar’s ruined vehicle had been draped with that dusty canvas in the shack.

  Dash tried to slow his breathing as he realized what was going to happen to these people later this day.

  “Tell me now,” said the veiled woman. “Are you the spirits who have been taunting Mrs. Caldwell’s family these past few years?”

  “Spirits?” asked Azumi. “Us?”

  One of the wards started to repeat her, but Dash spoke up quickly, interrupting. “We haven’t been taunting anyone.”

  “We haven’t been taunting anyone,” said another of the blindfolded children.

  “Oh, no?” Mrs. Caldwell answered, her voice quavering. “Would you please be kind enough to explain the noises we hear every night? Would you tell us why my husband’s paintings switch walls and rooms?” She paused, as if trying to hold back tears. “Why do my children wake up screaming?”

  “That’s not us,” said Poppy.

  “That’s not us.”

  Dagmar raised her brow and said, “They cannot lie.”

  Mrs. Caldwell gasped and then held her hand to her mouth. “Then … who? Who is tormenting my family?”

  “Not who,” said Azumi, trying to find the words to explain. “More of a … what.” One of the children echoed her, and Poppy shot her a stern look.

  The women glanced nervously at each other. The music box slowed, and Dagmar wound it up again, returning it quickly to the center of the table.

  But why did the kids in the loft send us here? Dash wondered. To find out more about Frederick Caldwell’s pact? Maybe even how to break it?

  From somewhere down a darkened hallway, a baby started crying. Poppy flicked her head toward the noise. And that’s when Dash caught a glimpse of another little girl standing in the doorway watching the séance.

  “Consolida!” Mrs. Caldwell cried out. “What are you doing out of your room? Where is Miss Ada?”

  The girl slipped around the corner. Mrs. Caldwell watched anxiously. Pattering footsteps echoed into the distance.

  “Connie!” Poppy called out, darting away from the group.

  “Connie!” one of the children echoed.

  Dash reached out for Poppy as she ran past him toward the doorway. “Poppy, wait!” he cried out, before planting his hand over his mouth. He knew what was coming next.

  “Poppy, wait!”

  “Poppy?” asked Dagmar. “Is that your name?”

  But Poppy was already gone, chasing her cousin into the depths of this strange vision.

  The music in the box shivered onward.

  POPPY RAN, LISTENING to footfalls echoing off the walls of the narrow corridors. She recognized some parts of the house, certain turns of the halls, the position of the stained-glass windows and the sunlight streaming through. The pattering stopped abruptly. “Connie!” she called out again. “Stop!”

  Coming around a corner, Poppy yelped. The girl was waiting several feet away, her arms crossed, hugging a cloth doll to her chest. Her brow was set in what looked like a mask of bravery, but Poppy could see the fear in her glistening eyes. A tall mirror in an ornate gold frame hung on the wall just beside them, their reflections only inches away. How bizarre to finally be on the same side of the glass.

  Before Poppy could speak, Connie opened her mouth. “Are you one of Mother’s guests? You were supposed to stay with the others.”

  “And you were supposed to stay in your room,” Poppy answered with a smirk. Then she realized, the girl was actually speaking with her. A wave of emotion nearly knocked Poppy off her feet. This girl was Poppy’s family. Her actual family! Poppy wanted to throw her arms around the girl and squeeze her. But she didn’t know what might happen if they touched. Would the vision end? Would Connie disappear again, this time for good? “You can see me?”

  “Of course I can see you,” said Connie. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?” Poppy watched the girl’s fingers twitching, revealing that she knew exactly what Poppy had meant. Connie knew that she wasn’t one of her mother’s guests. She squinted at Poppy, slipping her doll into one of her wide pockets. “Why were you chasing me?”

  “I just wanted to talk to you.” Upstairs, the baby’s wailing continued. “Is that Cyrus?”

  “My little brother.” Connie nodded. After a moment, she scrunched up her face. “Who are you?” she asked, the words coming slowly, as if she didn’t want to know the answer.

  Poppy adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and smoothed her purple T-shirt. “My name is Poppy Caldwell. I’m your … your cousin.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Connie sharply. “My cousins live in Colorado and their names are Atticus and Julius.”

  Poppy’s eyes went wide. Atticus and Julius. One of those two boys must have been her own great-grandfather. One of them was her connection to this awful place.

  “I’m a … new cousin,” said Poppy. “We’ve never met before. But trust me. One day, we’ll be best friends.”

  Connie’s face dropped. “But Father … he doesn’t allow me to have friends. He doesn’t like us to go far from the house. He says the world is dangerous.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Poppy, flinching.

  The article about the fire blinked into her mind. According to the newspaper, the psychic medium’s car accident had occurred about a month before the nursery fire—today. Poppy’s skin tingled. Should she tell the girl what she knew? “You can’t listen to what he says,” she blurted out.

  Connie cringed. “But he’s my father. I must listen to him. Everyone at Larkspur must. He can be very …” She sighed, her breath ragged.

  “He can be very what?”

  Connie lowered her voice. “He’s traveled to the city this week, to visit with his secret club. Mother never would have dared to invite Mrs. Spencer and the five children if Father were around. We’re supposed to keep it a secret.”

  Poppy reached out and grabbed Connie’s hands. The girl tried to pull away, but Poppy held tight. “Listen to me,” she said, unsure what words might spill out. “You’re not safe here. None of you are. Not your mother. Not your brother. And it’s all Frederick’s fault. Your father is not a good man.”

  Connie’s arms went limp. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your mother brought Mrs. Spencer here for a reason. She says that scary things have been happening at Larkspur.” Connie nodded, her lips trembling. “You need to convince your mother to take you away. Maybe on a short trip down to the city. Anywhe
re but here.”

  “But why? What did Father do?”

  Poppy sifted through all the thoughts swirling through her mind. The spirits of Larkspur had sent her into this vision for a reason. What was it? Could she change things? Or maybe find out—

  That was it! “He’s made a deal,” Poppy said. “Signed a pact.”

  “What kind of deal? For a new painting?”

  Not really, thought Poppy.

  “Never mind. Where would he keep this … this deal?”

  Connie tilted her head. “Maybe his art studio? He’s always there, with his paints, and it’s the only room in the house that he won’t allow the staff to—”

  The house jolted. The floorboards shuddered, and cracking sounds raced along the ceiling.

  The thing that Frederick Caldwell had made a deal with had finally sensed that Poppy and the others were here, trying to change its history.

  Suddenly, the great mirror slid off the wall and dropped to the ground beside the girls. They grabbed at each other, cringing as the top of the frame began to tilt toward them. But then Connie cried, “Help me!” and reached up to catch the mirror. Poppy shoved at her own reflection. The glass shattered on her palms, sharp pain slicing across her skin as the mirror broke into pieces, the frame falling around the two girls like a hoop, crashing to the floor.

  Connie took Poppy’s hand and tugged, swinging her around the nearest corner. Poppy’s palm stung like nothing she’d ever felt before. “This way,” Connie said.

  Poppy took two steps before someone slammed into her. She fell backward, losing Connie’s grip and banging her head against the hard wooden floor.

  AZUMI SCREAMED AS she saw Dash and Poppy collide. They both dropped.

  A girl was standing over them, her pale skin making her frightened eyes enormous. It was Poppy’s cousin, Frederick’s daughter. Her hands were covered in red and her apron was torn. What had happened?

  Poppy groaned as Azumi took her arm. Close up, Azumi noticed that Poppy’s face and shirt were speckled with red too.

  “Come on!” Connie cried, looking over her shoulder, as if something were about to jump out from around the corner of the hall.