“Not really. It ticked a few times, that’s it.”
“How many ticks, Dekker?”
“I told you, I don’t know. Four, I guess.”
“Four ticks.” She grabbed her umbrella. “It might be fine. Four, plus the two from before, makes…” She brushed past Dekker and Riley on her way to the door, as if she had forgotten they were there.
“Wait! Where are you going?” called Riley as Aunt Primrose stepped outside.
She raised her hands and shook her head. “It’s against my better judgment to leave you, but I must seek counsel. Dekker’s actions could have serious repercussions for the town. The clock must not awaken again—but no, I promised your mother. Stay here. And don’t touch anything.” She looked at Dekker. “We’ll speak about this when I return, young man.” She strode out into the yard. The rain was bucketing down, and soon Dekker and Riley could no longer see her.
“I knew she was weird,” said Dekker, “but that was over the edge.”
Riley nodded. “That was weird, actually. Dekker, you have to show me this clock!”
“I’ll give you a hint: it’s in the deepest place in the house.”
“Oh yeah, our game—Finding Things!” She stood up from the table. “You mean, deep like the bathtub?”
“No, like the farthest down.”
“That’s easy. It must be in the basement.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you’d better check.” Dekker followed Riley into the hall and down the basement stairs.
Riley wound her way between the wet sheets that now hung on lines running between the rafters. “Auntie’s sheets look like ghosts.” She slipped behind a sheet and let out a ghostly moan.
“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?”
“Oh yeah. Let me look around a bit.” Riley scanned the boxes and old furniture crowded into the corners. “I see a barn door over there.” She hurried to the other side of the basement and grunted as she slid the door open. “Ta-da! A secret staircase. I found it.”
“Better go down and check, or you lose the game. You have to make sure the clock is there.”
Riley looked down the narrow staircase and frowned. “It’s dark, and it smells like rotten potatoes.”
“Turn that knob on the wall, see?”
Riley turned it, and a weak light lit the stairs. “Here,” said Dekker, rummaging in her backpack. “Take a walkie-talkie with you. We’ll test them to see how they work.”
“But why?”
“Because you don’t want to be a loser, do you? Get going. I’ll wait here until you’re at the bottom.” Riley took a step down, one hand against the stony wall. “That’s it, keep going. You’re doing it.”
She stepped off the last stair onto the earthen floor and turned around. “I did it! See?”
“Great job. Now turn on your walkie-talkie and say something to make sure it’s working.”
She clicked on her handset, and her voice buzzed out of the speaker on Dekker’s handset. “I found the clock—it’s sure big.”
Dekker spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Is it working?”
“Just hold on, let me check. It’s not really ticking, but some of the little wheels are still going around inside. That skull is creepy. Is it made of wood or bone, do you think?”
“You didn’t touch it, did you? Aunt Prim said not to.”
Riley appeared at the bottom of the cellar stairs. “Hey, guess what? I win the game, ’cause I had the last turn!”
Dekker looked at Riley smiling up at him, and a mean thought came into his head. “You’re right, Riley. You win. And now for your prize.” Dekker grabbed the cellar door and watched Riley’s face disappear as he slid it shut. Then he locked it with the latch.
Riley screamed. “Dekker, that’s mean!”
“Use the walkie-talkie if you want to say something, stupid,” he said into his. “You have to stay down there until I get upstairs.” Dekker started to climb the stairs to the kitchen. His handset crackled.
“I’m telling Mom!”
“She’s not back for days, remember?”
“I’m telling Auntie!”
“I’ll tell her myself. Hey, Aunt Primrose, Riley’s locked in the cellar! Oh, wait—she left too.”
“Let me out! Dekker!” Lightning flashed in the kitchen window, and a burst of static interrupted her shouting.
Dekker climbed the stairs to his room. Ranger was sitting on the bed, looking at him. “What are you staring at?” Dekker pushed the button on his walkie-talkie. “I’m in my bedroom now. Do you still read me?” He waited, but the speaker only crackled with background static. Rain pelted against the window. He turned up the volume and tried again. “You have to answer, Riley. I can’t let you up until you do.” The speaker hissed again as lightning flashed outside. “Argh. Stupid weather. Come on, Ranger. We’ll go let my wussy sister out.”
Dekker banged down the basement stairs, and Ranger followed. When they reached the cellar door, he shouted, “All right, you can come up now.” He undid the latch, and the rail shrieked as he pulled the door across. “Game’s over.” All was quiet. He turned to Ranger. “See? Now she’s trying to scare me.” He went down into the cellar. “Riley, you win. You can come out now.” He looked around. Nothing moved. The clock ticked steadily in the corner.
The hatch that had been locked over the old well lay to one side. Dekker leaned over the hole. It was dark and deep.
Up the stone stairs, in the basement, the old-fashioned phone began to ring.
Four
Dekker’s mind raced as he followed Ranger out of the cellar into the basement. Please don’t be down the well, please don’t be down the well, he pleaded silently. The antique phone was ringing like an alarm clock, nonstop. He picked up the earpiece hanging on the side and leaned toward the mouthpiece. “Hello?” he said. The line crackled and popped. “Who’s there?”
A voice seethed back. “Dekker. I want to play Finding Things with you.”
“Who is this?”
“Find me and maybe I’ll tell you. I’m in the deepest place in the house.” The phone made a series of clicks and went dead.
“Where’s my sister?” Dekker shouted into the phone, but there was no reply. His heart began to hammer. He tried his mom’s cell-phone number on the rotary dial, but no sound came out of the earpiece. It was like the old phone wasn’t even connected. But how could that be? He scanned the basement and called, “Riley, are you there? Come out!” But there was nobody by the freezer or under the stairs, and none of the boxes had been disturbed.
Dekker ran back down to the cellar. He tried not to look at the open well. He checked the cupboards again. Ranger stood at the top of the stairs, whining. Dekker felt a light tap on his left shoulder, and he whirled around. “Who’s there?” Something tapped him on the head, and he jumped. He looked up and saw the vegetable chute high above. A muddy raindrop dripped onto his nose. The hole at the top was leaking. “The chute! She must have climbed up there. But how?”
The chute was at least eight feet off the floor, and there was nothing to stand on. No way she could have jumped or climbed. Thunder sounded in the distance. Water ran steadily into the cellar from above.
Dekker finally admitted to himself that he was out of options and turned reluctantly toward the well. He peered over the edge, looking for any sign of his sister. Please be there—please, please be there. The stone-ringed hole was a dark, open mouth. A cold breeze wafted across the stones, enough to tickle his nose. He could see his breath when he exhaled. He kicked a pebble into the hole and listened for the splash.
Silence.
Dekker coaxed Ranger down the stairs, but the dog would not come near the well. Dekker got down on his hands and knees and yelled as loudly as he could. “Riley!” His voice echoed in the stone shaft: Riley, Riley, Riley. He leaned over farther, trying to see the bottom. From deep in the well came a noise like someone gasping, and the mouth of the well sucked in all the air from the cellar. Dekker�
��s hand slipped, and he fell heavily against the edge. He began to slide into the hole. “Ranger, help me!” The sucking sound grew louder, and Dekker watched, horrified, as his skin began to pull down into the darkness as if it were caught in the mouth of a vacuum. He could hear Ranger whining. He tried to brace his hands and feet, but it was no use. His struggle only lasted moments, and then he plummeted headfirst into the dark. The air hissed as he fell. He closed his eyes and screamed.
Dekker awoke on the floor of the dimly lit cellar. Every bone in his body felt twisted out of place. The upside-down skull in the clock stared back at him from the corner. Dekker glared at it. “What are you looking at?” A sharp tick came from the clock, and the skull rotated slightly, its jaw snapping shut. Something was wrong with the cellar. The shelves slanted toward the floor, and all the jars on the shelves were tipped over or broken. Instead of potatoes, the air smelled of dust.
“You’re finally awake,” said a voice behind him. Dekker got to his feet and saw a boy perched on the stone edge of the well, beside a battered shoebox. His voice buzzed like electricity trapped inside a wire. Dekker was speechless. The boy looked so much like him, they could have been twins. His hair was a tangle like Dekker’s, but so blond it was almost white. His nose jutted out like the blade of a hatchet, just like Dekker’s. His eyes were ink-black and lifeless, though, whereas Dekker’s were a deep blue. He flipped a knife in the air and caught it expertly by the handle.
“Where’s my sister?” said Dekker.
The other boy laughed. “Don’t worry about her. She’s around somewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
The boy flipped and caught the knife again. “Your aunt didn’t tell you much, did she? This house is in the borderland between Nightside and Dayside. It’s a place between the living and the dead, sort of like the space under the floorboards, only bigger. You came from the Dayside house; you’re in the Nightside house now.” The boy held the knife like a microphone and spoke into it. “How have you been? How’s Riley enjoying her stay?” He held the point of the knife toward Dekker for a response.
Even though part of his brain was urging him to run screaming from the room, Dekker tried to sound calm. “Do you know where she is? I need to find her—bad.”
The other boy snorted. “You don’t say.”
“What are you doing in our house?”
The other boy shook his head. “You opened a way to the Dayside house when you wound the clock. Dayside’s been closed since the Nightclock stopped, but the Nightside house is mine. And now so are you. But let’s skip the boring questions.” He took a step toward Dekker. “I know that you locked Riley in the cellar and that she crossed into Nightside too.” He extended his pale hand. “You can call me Cobb.” The boy smiled widely, and Dekker noticed his teeth were sharpened to points. Cobb scowled when Dekker didn’t take his hand.
Dekker moved back against the wall, beside the clock, as far from the other boy as possible. “What have you done with my sister?”
Cobb opened the shoebox and took out a green plastic soldier. “I know you think you’re too old for these toys, but I still love them. Riley had them in her pack.” He whittled the soldier’s arms with the knife until they were sharp points. He bent down and set it on the cellar floor, then took another one out of the box and started again. “I was so lonely trapped in Nightside, I was starting to forget what it was like to play. Until you wound the Nightclock and left your sister for me.”
“Listen, freak,” Dekker said, “take me to Riley right now, or I’ll—”
Cobb stood up and pointed the knife at Dekker. “Or you’ll what? You didn’t like her much anyway. Why don’t you think of me as the brother you always wished for?”
Cold sweat trickled down Dekker’s back. Everything about the other boy filled him with fear, and he shook his head. “No. I need to find her.”
Cobb stopped carving the soldier, as if thinking. “I’ll make you a deal. Since you won’t stay with me, why don’t we play a game instead? Remember I wanted to play Finding Things? That’s a great game. I’ll even follow the rules. If you win, you get to ask me a question, and I have to answer it.”
“So I could ask you how to get out of here?”
“Of course.”
“What happens if you win?”
Cobb’s sharp teeth gleamed. “I suppose you’d have to stay here in Nightside. That’s not too much to ask, is it? I do so love to play.”
Dekker felt his stomach churn, knowing he had to accept. “All right, deal. But if I win, you have to leave Riley alone too.”
“If I win, she will remain in Nightside.”
“Fine.” I have to win. There’s no way Riley can stay with this guy.
“Done! The Nightclock can be our witness. Once we swear on it, the deal’s binding.” Silent as a shadow, Cobb slipped over to the grandfather clock. He pointed to the clock face. “Here—we grab the skull together and give it a turn. Then we can start the game.”
“I don’t know,” said Dekker. “Aunt Primrose said it was dangerous to mess with that thing.”
Cobb made a face. “ ‘Aunt Primrose said it was dangerous.’ Poor baby. Let’s not play then. I guess Riley will stay lost forever.”
“Okay, fine,” said Dekker. They both grasped a side of the skeletal face. It felt like touching a frozen piece of metal in winter with his bare hand. Dekker tried to pull away, but his hand was stuck to the skull, as if magnetized. Cold snaked up the veins in his arm. He glanced at Cobb and saw, to his surprise, that the other boy was struggling to free himself from the skull too.
Cobb gasped. “It hurts! What have you done?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Dekker put one foot on the clock’s base and pushed, but it was no use. His whole arm was throbbing, and he could smell something burning. Then the clock tolled rapidly, one bong after another, and both boys fell to the floor as the cellar throbbed with the vibration.
As the sound died away, Dekker staggered to his feet and looked at his hand. A dark, misshapen blotch was starting to form where his hand had been frozen to the skull.
Cobb stared at his own hand, his black eyes wide. His eyes narrowed. “What did you make it do?”
Dekker backed away, palms forward in protest. “I don’t even know what the Nightclock is.”
Cobb sneered. “Stupid Daysider. Nightclocks mark the passage between Dayside and Nightside, for the living and the dead. This is the dead side, for the night things. There are clocks in different parts of the world to govern the traffic in those places. This one’s been silent for years, and there’s been little passage between the sides here for all that time. That is, until you woke it up again.” Cobb grabbed Dekker’s hand and put it beside his own. Pushed together, their burns formed a blotchy circle. “We’ve been marked.”
“What does that even mean?” asked Dekker.
Cobb paced for a moment, thinking. “It means it noticed us, which can’t be good. But so what? It’s time to start our game. I get to go first.”
“What do you want me to find?”
Cobb sneered. “How dumb are you? I want you to find your sister.” He picked up his knife, flipping it so the handle snapped against his palm every few seconds.
Dekker moved toward the stairs. Before he could leave, though, Cobb said, “One more thing. In my game, you need to be quick. I’ll give you a head start, since you won’t possibly survive. I’ll count to a hundred first. Then we come. If I catch you, or you don’t find Riley before the Witching Hour—midnight in your Dayside—I win.”
Dekker breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s still afternoon. That’s loads of time.”
“Funny. Maybe in Dayside it is. Here, afternoon doesn’t even exist. It’s almost Eventide now—three hours to midnight.”
“But that’s not fair!” shouted Dekker.
“One.” The knife snicked as Cobb sharpened another soldier and set it on the earthen floor beside the first. “Two.”
Dekker turned
to the stairs and ran.
Five
Dekker raced through the basement and up to the kitchen. The floor was littered with glass from smashed-out windows. The part of him that felt guilty about what he had done to Riley was fighting with the part of him that wanted to hide.
He ran through the living room—someone had pulled all the furniture into the middle of the floor and made it into a crude fort—and out onto the front porch. He pushed down the sick feeling as he scanned the front yard. It was completely dark outside. The elm trees that lined the driveway were naked as in January, but Dekker knew it was the last day of June. The bare branches arched like a rib cage over the gravel road. Maybe I can get some help in town—if Nightside has a town. Dekker walked quickly between the trees. After a while the air seemed to get thinner and his chest felt tight, so he stopped to rest. The driveway didn’t seem this long before. He turned to look back at the house, but it was lost in the gloom.
Dekker felt dizzy. He tried to lean against a tree trunk, but it ripped like paper and his hand broke through the bark. A piece tore loose between his fingers; up close, it looked like a child’s drawing. Behind the rip was utter blackness. His hand ached with cold.
Fog curled out from the rip in the tree, and his vision wavered. He slumped to the ground, stretching out on the gravel. He thought maybe he would have a quick nap before going on. He reached out and felt something soft and warm, and he tried to lay his head on it, but it wriggled out from under him and began to lick his eyelids.
“Get up,” said a gruff voice. “If you fall asleep here, you may never wake.” Dekker tried to roll over, but the tongue kept licking his face. A wet nose pushed against his neck.
“Okay, I’m up.” He opened his eyes. The grizzled muzzle of a black-and-white dog hung over him.
“Ranger?” The dog gave him a great lick, and drool went up Dekker’s nose. “Oh, gross!” He jumped to his feet.
“That’s the spirit,” said the dog. “Keep your eyes on the tip of my tail, lad, and follow me. Quickly now, before that fog touches you.” The dog wagged his tail and started loping back toward the house.
Button Hill Page 3
