Button Hill

by Michael Bradford

  He whirled to face the pounding footsteps. Bong. The runner made an impossible leap over Dekker’s head, and was lit up by the moon for an instant, and then landed heavily on the bridge. Bong.

  Dekker turned back toward the bridge and something slammed into his back, knocking him to one side. He stumbled to his feet, ready to defend himself, but the girl who had run into him had already stopped at the edge of the bridge.

  “Harper?”

  Harper shook her head in disbelief. “He lied to me. I can’t believe he took it.”

  “Took what?”

  She turned to face him, but her eyes were out of focus, as if she didn’t really see him. “My music box. There.”

  Dekker looked where she was pointing, across the bridge. The shadow had disappeared into the dark on the other side, where the moonlight didn’t reach. He shivered, and this time it wasn’t just from the chill in the air. He saw that her cheek was bleeding. Bong. The clock echoed across the gorge. “Can you hear that?” he asked.

  “It’s a Nightclock. I didn’t know any of those worked anymore.”

  “It’s in my aunt’s cellar.”

  Harper nodded. “When I was little I lived with my mom. There was a big one in the city square.” She leaned against his shoulder as he stepped toward her. “That Cobb. I never should have listened to him.” Her skin was like ice, and the sweet apple smell of her hair was different somehow, as if the apples had started to rot.

  Dekker tried to imagine why someone would keep a clock made to look like bones, but he couldn’t think of anything that made sense. “Where—where does your mom live?” he asked.

  Harper took a step toward the bridge and pointed. “Over there, in Nightside, beyond the dark. Something happened to her when I was little, and I had to go live with my dad. Cobb said he had a message from her, but he tricked me into giving him my music box and now he’s gone.”

  “Why does it matter? It’s just a music box,” said Dekker, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Harper whispered, “Because she gave it to me. I used to think it was better, living in Dayside with my dad.”

  Dekker’s few memories of his own father surfaced unbidden: the scratch of his whiskers, the smell of his old leather jacket. He had died when Dekker was so young that these snatches of memory were all that remained. “You must miss your mom,” he said. She nodded, and Dekker pulled her back from the bridge. Something about the situation felt very wrong. “We should leave,” he said. Harper said nothing, but with great effort put one arm around his shoulder and stumbled along beside him up the hill.

  The climb was very hard. A wind dragged against their arms and legs as they trudged toward the top. A lump grew in Dekker’s throat when he thought about what might happen if they just stopped, if they let the wind push them back down to the bottom and into the gorge. He tried not to think about what Harper had said about her mother, and what it meant to live on the other side of that bridge, beyond the darkness. He kept moving his feet one in front of the other until the wind dropped, and the dream faded into gray.

  In the morning when Dekker awoke, he was exhausted.

  Two

  “Okay, this is it. I won’t see you until the weekend,” Dekker’s mom said while they ate breakfast on Monday morning. She stuffed some papers into her bag at the kitchen table. “I want you to finish putting away your clothes and toys while I’m gone. And don’t forget to feed Ranger.”

  Riley stuck out her bottom lip. “Why can’t I come?”

  “Go ahead—I don’t want to babysit you anyway.” Dekker looked pleadingly at his mom as Riley started to sniffle. “I told you we shouldn’t have come out here. She’s going to be a worse pain than ever.”

  His mom zipped her bag shut and grabbed a piece of toast. “We’ve been through this already, Dekker. You’re still too young to be on your own. I’m only going to be at our house to sleep. Once my classes are over, I’ll be here more. Or we’ll be back home. Or something.” She sighed. “Dekker, take those earbuds out so I know you’re listening.”

  “Simmer, Mom. I heard you. But I don’t want to stay with Riley or be watched by Aunt Primrose. I want to check out the town, see if there are any other kids around here.”

  “You needn’t worry, Stella,” said Aunt Primrose as she entered the room. “I shall be glad to chaperone.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Prim. Kids, you listen to your great-aunt while I’m gone. Is that clear?” She looked hard at Dekker. He looked away.

  Riley’s hand shot into the air. She was waving a little white statue above her head. “Ooh, ooh, Mom, I forgot—look what I found in the other room. A skeleton-versus-mummy chess set! Auntie says it’s made of real bone! She says she’s going to teach me how to play. Is that cool or what?”

  Dekker’s mom kissed Riley on the cheek. “That’s nice, dear. Maybe you’d better put that down. It’s very fragile.” Riley set the skeleton carefully on the table by her plate, then tucked her napkin around it like a blanket. Aunt Primrose said nothing, but Dekker thought she looked relieved.

  Dekker let his mom give him a hug before she left. “Try to be nice, and take care of your sister, okay?” she said. They watched from the sitting-room window as she climbed into the van. She honked the horn, and the van disappeared down the tree-canopied driveway.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Dekker turned to his sister. “You heard Mom—get up to your room and put away your stuff.”

  Riley rolled her eyes at him. “Put away your own stuff, slobby. I’m already done.”

  “You little squid.” He made a grab for her, but she had already run down the hall. Dekker watched her go, then slumped on the couch by the window.

  “Really, young man, I can’t understand why you insist on tormenting your poor sister.”

  Dekker scowled and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “This wouldn’t be happening if Dad was still alive. You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, I’m just in a bad mood. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Aunt Primrose patted him roughly on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “The night does take some getting used to if you’re not from the country. No sirens wailing, no motors running endlessly, no blaring horns. In time, you will adjust.”

  “It’s not that. I dreamed about that stupid clock. I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

  She squeezed his shoulder again, until it hurt. “You are not to go near that clock. I did not fully explain this to you earlier, in the hopes of saving you needless worry.” The old lady leaned in toward Dekker. He could smell coffee on her breath. “That clock is cursed,” she whispered.

  Dekker groaned. “Yeah, I get it. Mom told you I made fun of it, right?”

  “The clock has not run in decades. And let me tell you, I was glad when it stopped working.”

  “Why?” asked Dekker.

  “Because that’s when the people of Button Hill stopped disappearing.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked suspiciously. “What about all those people who died that you told us about yesterday? They’re all gone.”

  “Yes, but they departed in the usual ways, thank goodness. You should ask your mother when she returns. It’s one of the reasons why you’ve visited so seldom.”

  “I don’t believe you. An old clock couldn’t make stuff happen.”

  “It’s quite concerning that you should dream of it so soon. Are you positive you didn’t touch it?”

  Dekker shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

  “I’m of a mind to call your mother and alert her to this development.”

  Dekker stood up. “No, don’t call her. I’ll stay away from it, I promise.”

  Aunt Primrose’s pale eyes held his gaze for a long moment. “See that you do. For your own sake.”

  Dekker climbed the stairs to his bedroom and frowned at the hospital-green walls. Ranger stood up and wagged his tail when Dekker came in. “Good boy,” Dekker said and ruffled the dog’s ears. Ranger’s head was boxy, and he had a patchy black-and-white c
oat that reminded Dekker of cows. The dog jumped onto the bed and danced around in a circle three times before collapsing on the pillow.

  “Don’t go in the bathroom if you can help it,” Dekker said to the dog. “There’s a bunch of old-lady underwear hanging over the tub.” Ranger wriggled onto his back so Dekker could rub his tummy. “What are we doing out here, buddy? I mean, it’s going to be great for you. There are fields for you to run in and gophers to chase, but it’s going to suck for me. I’m stuck with Aunt Poison and my sister. I wish she’d been born a boy. Then she’d do stuff I want to do. Of course, there is one game she might like.”

  He got up and crossed the landing. Riley’s room was identical to his but the color of butter. He watched as she hummed to herself on her bed while she gave one of her dolls a haircut with large scissors. “Mom’s going to kill you if she catches you with those.”

  Riley stuffed the scissors under her pillow, her eyes wide with alarm. “Don’t tell,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Your secret’s safe as long as you play Finding Things with me.”

  She sat forward. “How do you play Finding Things?”

  Dekker sat down on the bed beside her. “You tell the other person to find some place or thing you’ve seen, and they have to look for it. Each person gets a turn. You win if the other person can’t find what you told them to look for.”

  “Can I pick first?”

  “Sure. But only if you don’t quit like a crybaby if you start to lose.”

  “I won’t. Let me grab my backpack. Come on, Cuddles!” Riley crammed her stuffed leopard into a dirty pink pack.

  Dekker returned to his room and reemerged with his walkie-talkie. “We can test this out too,” he said, tossing the handsets into the bag.

  Downstairs, Aunt Primrose was chopping some long roots with a heavy cleaver. Dekker put his hands behind his back and stepped quietly into the kitchen. “Um, Aunt Primrose, we need a break from all that unpacking, so can we go outside and explore a bit? Please?”

  Aunt Primrose looked out the window and frowned. “There’s a storm coming. I don’t want you wandering about.” She frowned at Ranger, who was sniffing around by her feet. “I can’t abide animals who beg.” She untied her apron and put it on the counter. “If fresh air is what you need, you may accompany me to the garden.”

  “Aww, but Riley and I were going to play a game,” he said.

  Riley smiled. “It’s okay, Dekker. For my first turn, I want you to find me a pink flower.”

  Aunt Primrose walked to the back door and lifted an umbrella out of the stand. “You must learn the boundaries of this place, so that you do not get led astray.”

  “Yeah, right,” scoffed Dekker. “There’s this place, a run-down train station and about three streets in the whole town. How could we possibly get lost?”

  “I said nothing about being lost, young man. You must have potatoes growing in your ears,” said Aunt Primrose as she pulled a canvas bag onto her shoulder. She opened the door and stepped into the rain that had begun to fall. “Come along, children.” She led them down the back stairs and onto a narrow path that ran straight from the house toward a tall hedge of raspberry canes. The small lawn turned wild as it spread beyond the sides of the house. Raindrops spattered the dry earth, and they looked up to see a gray sky above them. Aunt Primrose’s stride was slow but long, and she moved through the rain at a steady pace.

  “Now we’re going to get soaked,” grumbled Dekker.

  “Who cares? This is fun!” Riley skipped along to catch up to Aunt Primrose, who had stopped as they neared the edge of the raspberries and snapped open the umbrella.

  “You’ll both have chores to carry out here each day. Come along.” Aunt Primrose turned and took the path through the raspberry brambles that enclosed the garden.

  Riley gasped as she stepped through the hedge. “Wow, Dekker, you have to see this!”

  As he passed through the canes and entered the garden, he had the distinct feeling that he was stepping out of his world and into a picture book. Despite the dark sky, the garden was still bright, as if lit by hidden candles. Sweet peas crawled up netting on one side of the garden, and another wall of raspberry canes stood at the south end, farthest from the house. The air hummed with bees. A thick perfume tickled Dekker’s nose. A low jungle of wildflowers brushed against his legs and soaked his pant legs as he walked.

  “What do we have to do?” he said. Riley and Aunt Primrose were crouched beside a murky pool with some lilies floating on it. A carpet of pink, star-shaped flowers with long green leaves and stems spread all around it.

  Aunt Primrose rose up from beside the pool, holding a bunch of dead-looking plants in one hand and a pair of gardening shears in the other. “This garden is the most important part of my home, and while you are here, you will help look after it. The flowers must be kept in optimal health at all times. Your job will be to come here each afternoon and deadhead along the path. Any flower or stem starting to wilt must be pruned at once. Like so.” Aunt Primrose flourished the shears. Several blossoms dropped into her hand.

  Riley’s face lit up. “Do we get to use those big scissors too?”

  “They are called shears, young lady. You may use an old pair that I keep in reserve. I will show you where they are stored in the house.”

  Even though he resented being given chores, Dekker suddenly felt left out. “What about those pink ones on the other side of the pool? The path doesn’t reach over there, so how are we supposed to—what do you call it?—deadhead them or whatever?”

  Aunt Primrose clucked her tongue. “Not all those flowers are wilted. Look carefully; some are closed, as their blossoms open only at dusk.”

  She plucked two of the pink flowers from beside the pool and tucked one behind Riley’s ear and the other into a buttonhole on Dekker’s shirt. She held out the rounded handles of the shears to Dekker. “These are sharper than they look, so be careful. See if you can tell which flowers are ready to lose their heads.”

  Dekker took the shears and clipped some of the blooms. Then he noticed that the lily in the middle of the small pool had started to turn brown along the edges. “Hey, should I prune that one too? It’s not looking so good.” He leaned out, one arm stretched toward the flower.

  “Do not touch the water!” Aunt Primrose said in a shrill tone he had never heard her use before. Surprised, he fumbled the shears and they fell into the pool, and in that moment he could see clearly through the water. Looking up at him was a boy’s face, a reflection, angled like his own. But the eyes were dark as tar, and moon-pale hair swirled back from his face. A pale hand reached up toward him, the palm pressed against the underside of the water’s surface as if it were a pane of glass. In his other hand, the boy in the water held out the shears. Their eyes locked as Dekker reached for them.

  Aunt Primrose’s voice broke in, calm and commanding. “Dekker. Don’t touch the water. Look at me. Now, please move away from the pool.”

  Wind gusted across the water, blurring the surface. Dekker’s heart hammered against his rib cage. He shook his head and tried to figure out what he had just seen. Was that me I saw in the water? He glanced at the pool once more as he sat back on the edge, but the hands and face that had been there a moment before were gone. “I’m sorry I lost your clippers, Aunt Primrose.”

  The old lady shook her head. “You are careless, young man. That pool is surprisingly deep; they’re gone for good. Stay away from that water or you’re likely to drown. Now come. We’re all wet enough without having to fish you out of there.”

  Dekker and Riley followed their great-aunt along the stone path and out of the garden. “I thought I saw something in the water,” he whispered to his sister.

  “What?”

  “I think it was a boy. He looked like me, but with white hair.”

  “That’s called a reflection, you dummy.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been.”

  “Why not?”

  “Becaus
e he was holding the gardening shears.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “You’re always lying, Dekker. Mom says no one trusts you anymore.”

  Dekker raised his voice. “She does not. Aunt Primrose saw him too.”

  “That’s quite enough out of you, young man. Stop talking nonsense at once.” Aunt Primrose plodded forward and said no more. The rain began to fall faster, and they hurried back to the house. Dekker scowled at his sister, but she scurried ahead so that she reached the steps before him. When they got there, Ranger was scratching at the door.

  Three

  Dekker and Riley ate lunch at the kitchen table while Aunt Primrose brought the soaking-wet sheets in off the clothesline. She took them into the basement, and when she returned, her eyes were bright with anger. She stood in front of them, arms crossed, and cleared her throat. “Children, why do you suppose some people insist on breaking rules?”

  Dekker remembered twisting the skull on the clock, and his heart started to beat more quickly. When nobody answered, Aunt Primrose continued.

  “Is it a lack of respect? A belief that one is above the law?”

  Riley glanced at her brother. He looked down at his plate.

  “Was I not clear, Dekker, that the clock was not to be touched?”

  Dekker’s face grew hot as the frustration he felt at being trapped in Button Hill rose inside of him. “There are all kinds of things we’re not allowed to touch here. Anyway, how do you know I touched it?”

  Aunt Primrose stabbed a shaking finger at the basement door. “Because. The skull. Is. Upside. Down!”

  “I thought twisting it might start it again. Can’t you just turn it back? I can show you how I did it.”

  Aunt Primrose leaned toward him across the table. She spoke in almost a whisper, and this somehow made Dekker feel worse than if she had yelled. “And when you, in your wisdom, wound the skull, did the clock start again?”