No Way Out

by Dan Poblocki

  The far wall was a row of windows overlooking the meadow and the woods. Overhead, the stars revealed secrets of their endless constellations. Beyond the trees, Poppy could see the river flowing all the way back down to the city. Maybe she wouldn’t have to return to Ms. Tate and the group home after all. Her heart swelled with gratitude.

  “Are these pictures of Frederick?” Azumi asked, staring up at one wall. The same face stared out from dozens of frames. If you glanced from portrait to portrait, you’d see a young gentleman transform into a grizzled old man—the shy innocence in his eyes fading, replaced with the shine of insanity. In the few paintings near the bottom of the wall, the subject had lost all sense of humanity. His face grew misshapen, colored a vibrant green or purple or red, white light bursting from his eye sockets, his mouth twisted open in a wide gawp. In others, a mess of paint was thick and gobbed on, suggesting that a man was hiding inside layers of a monstrous cocoon. In the final painting, dark smears only hinted that he was watching from the shadows. It was as if, in the decades since the death of his wife and daughter, Frederick had begun painting himself as a monster.

  Poppy couldn’t look at them. Hatred squelched her stomach. Or maybe she was just hungry. She suddenly realized how dry her mouth was, how badly she wished for a sip of water.

  End the curse and drink all the water you want. Everything here belongs to you now.

  Was that Connie’s voice? Poppy’s breath came faster as she took in the rest of the space.

  Looking for the painter’s pact, Azumi dug through some of the boxes, while Dash rifled through desk drawers.

  A tall object beside one of the easels was covered with a familiar-looking dark fabric. In Cyrus’s office that morning, Poppy had stayed away from the drapery, frightened of what she’d see underneath it. But now she knew better. She grasped the cloth and yanked it away. There appeared a six-foot-tall, freestanding full-length mirror. Frederick Caldwell must have used it to paint his self-portraits.

  And now Poppy would use it to call to her cousin.

  “Connie?” She was so nervous that her voice was a mere squeak. “Are you here?” Poppy stared at her own reflection. In the mirror, she could see Dash and Azumi watching intently, anxiously.

  A shadow flickered between them.

  Dash flinched away from the spot on the floor where it should have been. But outside of the mirror, there was no shadow. Azumi stared at him, perplexed.

  “Connie!” Poppy cried out. “I knew you’d come!”

  Dash watched as the shadow solidified into a human shape, but it shuddered and twitched, as if it were fighting off some invisible force. Poppy held her palms to the glass as if that might help, but Connie’s image continued to flutter and dance. Suddenly, as if smacked by a giant hand, the shadow jerked back toward the wall of Frederick’s self-portraits. Poppy shrieked. The shadow fell to the floor, twitching, then shifted back into a standing position. A moment later, the shadow appeared to be knocked toward the elevator. “Leave her alone!” Poppy hit at the mirror glass, as if she could crawl inside to save her cousin.

  “We have to do something!” Azumi cried out. The house was fighting them harder now; it must know how close they were to figuring out its darkest, most powerful secret.

  “Hold up!” said Dash, rushing over to the desk he’d been exploring. Reaching into the bottom drawer, he removed a small wooden box decorated with swirling carvings. A tiny metal knob stuck out from its side.

  Azumi’s jaw dropped. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Dash turned the knob, and when he couldn’t wind it any further, he opened the lid. “Larkspur’s Theme” twinkled out, echoing into the studio. The air felt suddenly still, and a quiet comfort settled onto his skin.

  Poppy stepped away from the mirror but continued to stare into it. The others turned to find the image of Connie standing at Poppy’s side in the glass. The psychic medium from the vision had been right: the music was protecting her, protecting all of them.

  But who knew how long it would last? Larkspur had a habit of smashing things that got in its way.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay,” said Poppy. Connie nodded, but looked as if she were too exhausted to smile. “We need your help. Frederick’s pact … We need to know where it is. What does it look like?”

  Dash had imagined a standard contract, like the ones his parents had signed for Dad’s So Clueless back in Hollywood. But he knew that whatever Frederick had signed would be different. Spiritually binding. Whatever the painter had done had given him great fame and limitless wealth. But it had also taken his family from him. Had the man known what would happen? Dash suddenly felt all of Frederick’s painted eyes staring at him, daring him to ask the question aloud.

  Connie opened her mouth as if to speak; then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like an old scroll of parchment paper.

  The pact! thought Dash.

  She quickly unrolled it, showing them that the page was blank. She shook her head and then tore the paper in half, dropping it at her feet.

  “What do you mean?” asked Poppy, her voice rising, confused. “There is no pact?”

  Connie held up a finger as if she were playing a game of charades. She approached the glass from her side of the mirror and opened her mouth. She exhaled, fogging up the area in front of her face. She pressed her finger to the glass and drew a shape like a flower. Five petals radiated from a center point. Connie stared at Poppy as the fog faded away.

  Poppy shook her head. “I don’t understand.” Connie dug around in her pocket, then pulled out a thin paintbrush. The tip was as red as blood.

  Dash wondered if it was blood.

  Then she strolled toward one wall of paintings. Using the brush, she pointed at several of them. Poppy shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Can’t you please just tell me what you mean?”

  “Or write it down,” said Dash.

  Connie shook her head, tears running down her face. She shoved the brush toward her father’s landscapes emphatically.

  Azumi waved, trying to get their attention. “What if she’s saying that the pact is inside one of Frederick’s paintings?”

  Connie fluttered to the mirror glass, nodding frantically.

  Dash approached Poppy. “What if Frederick’s pact was an image? A symbol.” He pointed at the glass where Connie had fogged it. “The symbol that Connie marked here.”

  Connie jumped up and down, a huge smile blooming.

  Poppy screamed in surprise. “He’s right?” Connie nodded. Poppy turned and threw her arms around him again, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Dash!”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, struggling for breath. He felt horrible for everything he’d said to her at Larkspur’s gate, and her immense hug told him that she felt the same. Could they trust each other again? Listening to the tinkling of the music box, he suddenly felt like they might. “Thank your cousin.”

  “Which one is it?” Azumi asked, heading toward the wall of paintings that Connie had pointed at. Connie grew somber, shaking her head. “It’s not one of these?” Connie shook her head again and then pointed toward a doorway beyond the elevator.

  “The pact is not in this room?” Poppy asked.

  Connie raised her hands to her pale face. Splaying her fingers, she dragged them from her eyebrows down to her chin, as if indicating tears.

  “Don’t be sad,” said Poppy, making her voice sound extra excited, hopeful. “We’re going to be together soon! Forever!”

  Dash’s face fell. “Forever?” he asked. What did she mean?

  But Poppy ignored him, watching Connie make the gesture over and over. Connie pointed at the doorway again.

  “Okay, okay,” said Poppy. “We’ll go look for it now.”

  Dash couldn’t get her words out of his head. “Poppy, what do you mean? Forever?”

  She still pretended not to hear him. “What do we do when we find the right painting?” she asked.

  “We can use
this,” said Azumi, reaching into one of the desk drawers and holding up a tin marked TURPENTINE. She grabbed a silver lighter from an ashtray. “And this.”

  The tune from the music box started to slow, the melody growing sleepy. The air seemed to vibrate all around it, as if with static.

  The hair on the back of Dash’s neck prickled. He reached for the box so he could wind it up again.

  But the box rose into the air, high over his head.

  Dash shouted, “Hey!” He climbed onto the desk, but the spring in the contraption had wound down, and the chimes went silent. The wooden box began to wobble. He could practically feel the house’s evil sweeping toward him, filling the space that the music had occupied.

  The device exploded, wood splinters flying everywhere. He covered his face, sharp debris hitting the backs of his hands. A second later, the mangled motor dropped to the desk at his feet, and high laughter echoed up from the elevator shaft.

  THE ACCORDION DOOR squealed open, and two pairs of hands stretched out of the darkness. Matilda and Dylan dragged themselves onto the floor of the studio and jerked forward into the room as if their limbs were attached to marionette strings. Dash jumped off the desk and ran over to the mirror, where Poppy and Azumi huddled together. Behind them, Connie’s reflection had blurred again. She’d pressed herself against the other side of the glass, as if trying to reach Poppy.

  Matilda and Dylan glided across the floor, their shoes skidding on the worn rugs, their arms reaching, their hands like claws.

  Shivering, Poppy stepped toward them. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, trying to sound brave. “You came. Y-you actually came.”

  The Specials closed the distance quickly, both of them heading toward Poppy. But Poppy stood still, planting her feet.

  “Let’s go!” Azumi yelled. She reached for Poppy’s arm, but then Dash leapt forward, knocking his brother backward.

  Dash and Dylan gripped at each other, falling to the floor, cursing and screaming.

  And just as Matilda was about to plow into Poppy, Poppy shoved Connie’s doll into the cat girl’s hands. Matilda’s fingers closed on it as if by instinct. She froze, then glanced at the doll, and a second later, a shattering sound filled the air.

  Matilda’s mask broke into shards and rained to the floor. Her pale eyes lit up blue, as if powered by some magic, and her mouth spread wide, beaming happiness, surprise, and a bit of fear. Clasping the girl who’d chased her relentlessly through Larkspur, Poppy whispered, “You’re okay!”

  Dylan shoved Dash away with a snarl. He glanced up as if he were expecting to see Matilda tear Poppy apart with her bare hands, but when he realized Matilda was free, his empty eye sockets flashed golden. Then he went limp.

  Poppy felt Matilda’s body disintegrate, her slight warmth fading into a coolness like the breeze through her bedroom window on a spring night. She exhaled, relieved. They were all gone. All the Specials were free.

  A stabbing pain shot through Poppy’s stomach and she hunched over, gagging. They weren’t gone. They were all dead. The house had made sure of that. All their pain, their suffering, their nightmares and panic, had fed the creature.

  The monster that had cast its long shadow over Poppy’s own life.

  This had to end. Now.

  Poppy turned back to the mirror. But the glass had turned black. Connie had vanished.

  Someone grabbed Poppy’s shoulder, and she yelped.

  Azumi clutched her arms, was waving something in her face, some sort of shiny metal container. “We need to go!”

  Dash crawled over to the girls and stood up, groaning.

  Dylan was sitting on the floor a few feet away, just staring at them. His painted frown had reversed. Now a smile stretched across the mask so wide and so high, it was nearly level with his glowing golden eyes.

  “He knows something we don’t,” said Dash, trembling helplessly.

  A deep voice echoed out from behind the mask. “You can run …” It laughed again. Dylan floated to his feet, as if lifted by invisible strings. “I’ll give you a head start. But after that, the game is even.”

  The floor began to shake.

  Poppy, Dash, and Azumi took off, racing toward the darkened door beside the elevator shaft.

  AS SOON AS Azumi, Dash, and Poppy went through the door, the smoke hit them, thick and swirling. They all crouched down, then scuttled forward on their hands and knees. Ahead was the crackling sound of fire, and heat radiated toward them.

  “Where are we going?” shouted Dash, shining his flashlight forward. The glow reflected off the swirls of ash that were trying to choke him.

  “Forward!” said Poppy. “There’s no other way.”

  “There has to be!” said Azumi. “After all this, I’m not going to die in a flipping fire!”

  “You’d rather be eaten by a giant monster?” asked Dash.

  “It would probably be quicker!”

  They’d made it about twenty feet when they heard chuckling behind them. Dylan had appeared in the doorway, watching them crawl.

  “Run,” said Dash, rising to his feet and covering his mouth with his hands. “Just … run!”

  As they raced forward, the smoke began to clear. None of them could see Dylan behind them anymore. The hallways stretched long before them.

  “Your brother’s the least of our worries now,” said Poppy. “The house knows we’re here to destroy it. And even more important: We know how! It’s going to do everything it can to keep us from reaching Frederick’s pact. His special painting.”

  “Which painting are we looking for?” asked Azumi. “The house is filled with so many.”

  “The Five-Sided Man!” said Dash.

  “Yes!” said Poppy. “That one was up in the tower. If we can find our way back there, then maybe—”

  Azumi screeched as she skidded to a halt. The walls around them had disappeared. A few inches away, the floor was gone too. They were standing at the edge of an endless room filled with darkness. Below, the sound of fire crackled. There was no light. Only abyss and oblivion. The darkness practically shivered with hunger.

  “It’s over,” said Dash, glancing back the way they’d come. “Dylan is heading for us right now.”

  “It’s not over,” said Poppy. “Marcus said something earlier today. The house changes shape, right? In that way, it can push us in certain directions. Keep us from going where it doesn’t want us to go.”

  Two amber orbs appeared in the darkness behind them—the glow from inside Dylan’s mask. In a few seconds, he’d be upon them.

  “Get to the point!” Dash cried out.

  “Sorry! It’s just … We need to head through the scariest places that the house shows to us. That’s how we get where we need to go.”

  The orbs raced forward.

  “So then, what now?” asked Azumi.

  Poppy turned toward the bottomless abyss. “We jump.”

  POPPY BEGAN TO FALL.

  Azumi screamed out, “Poppy, wait!”

  But a moment later, Poppy’s feet landed on solid ground. “It’s safe!” she called to the others. “There’s a floor. Follow me! Hurry!” The bottomless pit had only been an illusion.

  Seconds later, the three raced into the darkness, the walls of the hallway appearing ahead once more. But then the floor began to turn, wrenching sideways like the corkscrew of a roller coaster. The lines of the hall all began to curve so that up ahead, the ceiling was where the floor should be. Poppy held her breath as she spiraled around the house, the floor moving upward, her sneakers maintaining contact. She felt like she should fall over. Soon, her head was facing downward, blood rushing into her cheeks. She kept running as the hall began to twist itself tighter and tighter, looping them quicker and quicker.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” said Azumi.

  “Don’t puke on me!” Dash shouted.

  “A little puke isn’t that big a deal … ,” Poppy answered. The spinning was too much. She started to feel faint.

/>   Suddenly, all three were falling, tumbling over one another as the hallway dropped at a steep slant. They slid across the wooden floor, descending rapidly into yawning darkness.

  AS THEY PICKED themselves up, groaning, Dash glanced behind them. There was no sign of Dylan—not a footstep or an amber glow—and Dash realized that his brother could be anywhere. He turned back, and they started walking without a word.

  Minutes later, they reached a crossroads. Three hallways stretched ahead of them. One was brightly lit with warm light, red-wood paneling along the bottom, and pinkish swirly wallpaper at the top. Another was pitch-dark and smelled like something rotting. And a third was illuminated by starlight, one wall of windows looking out on the meadow. A chorus of voices whispered from its far end. “All are welcome here … Everyone has a home at Larkspur … Even you …”

  “This is the least fun fun house I’ve ever been in,” said Poppy.

  “You’ve been in a lot?” asked Azumi.

  “Which way?” Dash interrupted, glancing back the way they’d come. “We need to stay on track.”

  “We know that, Dash,” Azumi whispered. “We’re in this together, remember?”

  Dash grunted, staring down each new passage. “What if the house figured out we’re searching for the scariest pathways? Maybe it’s changed the rules of the game.”

  “We should stick to the plan,” said Poppy.

  “Okay, then.” Dash pointed at the well-lit hall. “Is it weird that I feel most scared of this direction?”

  “A little bit. But … if it’s what scares you, maybe we should listen to that.”

  They headed toward the light.

  “What’s so scary about this, Dash?” asked Azumi.

  “It makes me question my instincts,” said Dash. “And I guess it makes me wonder if things can even go back to being normal. I’m not sure I can handle normal … not ever again.”

  The three walked in silence, passing by a sideboard where a colorful stained-glass Tiffany lamp sat like something you’d find in someone’s kindly old grandmother’s house.