Dollhouse

by Anya Allyn

  Everything you'll ever say, written on the mirror

  A thousand, thousand times I'll stake out your altar

  When rain falls through the darkening light

  I'll find you, find you on the other side.

  The notepad fell through my fingers. I was trespassing. In the worst way. Reading his personal stuff wasn't helping with anything.

  Lacey and I breakfasted quickly, and left for the day. Today we were determined to do what we’d come here to do—search for a gold mine. Heading towards the rocky hills in the distance, Lacey and I pulled beanies over our heads. The air was brisk, although not as cutting as it had been the previous morning.

  We reached the hills within an hour. Attempting to imagine each square meter of hill as a search area, we checked each square thoroughly—looking for rock formations for edges that looked artificial or cut, or anything that looked like it had been covered over.

  For a while there, I almost convinced myself I was on some heroic quest—here to avenge the disappearance of my friend, to uncover every stone. The next hour, I knew I was just a stupid kid in the midst of an endless, rolling set of forests, and that was all.

  Lacey caught sight of Ethan running through the forests. We followed after him. Somehow, the rest of the day became all about following Ethan. We watched as he roamed the forests and climbed trees. We'd lose sight of him of him and find him again. We saw that he spent a lot of time high up in branches, though we didn't know what he was spying on.

  * * * *

  A bone-wrenching scream shocked me awake. I sat bolt upright, gulping quick breaths.

  Lacey drew her sleeping bag up around her chin. “You scared me! What’s up?”

  Ashen light filtered through the plastic window of the tent. It was morning, and it seemed I’d barely been asleep.

  “I thought I heard—something.” I rubbed my forehead. “Must have been dreaming.”

  Lacey and I pulled on our runners and crawled out of the tent. Outside, the world was tinted dark gray. Ethan splashed his bare torso with water at the river. His back and chest already looked thin and rangy.

  Lacey poured a tiny packet of long-life milk into a tiny packet of Coco Pops, and mixed it together with a spoon. She ate without expression, as though eating were a mere inconvenience.

  Ethan turned and gazed at me and Lacey for a moment, like an animal caught in a spotlight. He strode up to us, the whites of his eyes clear and large in the deep light. “I’m tracking Henry the rest of this week. Don’t get in my way or alert him that we’re here. And quit following me, will you?”

  Lacey tossed her empty cereal packet in the trash bag. “I’ve spotted you following us, too, from time to time."

  I stared at Ethan. I hadn’t even noticed him behind us at all yesterday.

  He shrugged at Lacey, avoiding my gaze.

  Lacey gave a low sigh. “This is pointless. We just spent a day chasing each other around out there in the forests.”

  "Yeah," I agreed. "None of this is helping to find Aisha."

  A humorless smile inched across Ethan's face. “Good. Let's agree on staying far away from each other.”

  Lacey moved off to rummage for something in the tent.

  I laced my shoe. “Ethan, why are you following Henry? He wasn’t even here when Aish went missing.”

  “So what?” Ethan said. “Maybe he had something booby-trapped.”

  “That’s nuts. No one even comes this way.”

  “Maybe he was trying to trap animals—but he got Aisha instead.”

  I considered this for a moment. “It would be illegal to trap animals here. And anyway—that’s pretty far-fetched.”

  “Just do what I ask, and stay away. Let me do what I’ve got to do.”

  “We’ll do better. We’ll come too. Then we can't get in each other's way because we'll all be together.” I held Ethan’s gaze.

  The words had spilled out unchecked.

  Lacey stood behind me—her furry anorak in her hand.

  “What? Us? No way, Hosea.” Lacey marched into the forest.

  I found her with her back against a tree, struggling to do up the stuck zipper on her jacket. Her eyes were red.

  “I’m worried Ethan might crack and hurt Henry.” I fished a beanie from my pocket and pulled it over my ears. “He's been pretty weird. I just want to help him get through this. As a friend.”

  “I think we should pack up our tent and move it to another part of the forest.” Lacey’s voice trembled. “Leave Ethan to whatever crazy plan he has cooked up.”

  “Ethan’s hurting. Maybe pain just makes you act the way he has. I don't know.”

  She searched my face. “I’m starting to wonder if you like Ethan—as more than just a friend.”

  Biting my upper lip, I dug my fists into my jacket pockets. “What? No!”

  Lacey reached back at the neck of her anorak and pulled out a hood—slipping it over her head. “Okay I'm sorry. But, if Ethan’s going mental, maybe we should just leave. We should really call the police if we think he’s going to do something bad to Henry. Who knows, he might end up hurting one of us.”

  I sucked my lips inwards. “I won’t leave. I’m not leaving.” My words were harsher than I’d meant them to be, but I realized that I really meant it. I was here until I found something.

  “We were never going to find Aisha. This whole plan was stupid. Let’s head out, today. Before our parents find out what we’re doing.”

  “Not me. But I get it if you leave.”

  “Is that what you want? Do you want me to go so you can be alone with him? I mean, there will only be one tent left if I leave. His.”

  I stared up into the tree canopy. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be alone here with Ethan.” At least, I didn't think I did. I didn't even want to let myself think about that, because I didn't know what the answer would really be.

  A tear slid wetly down Lacey’s pink-tinged cheek, her eyelashes drifting downwards. “All right, I’m still in.”

  9. TRACKING

  Ethan decided that tracking Henry Fiveash should start with his house.

  At first, he’d said a flat-out no to us coming with him, but then he’d surprised us by giving in—stating that three heads were better than one.

  Lacey bent her head against the sharp wind. “Are you kidding? The dogs will hear us.”

  “What if we come in at night?” he said. “The dogs will be asleep... hopefully?’

  “We’re going to creep around a creepy old house at night? One that has a creepy man in it?” Lacey’s eyes widened.

  My body numbed. I had imagined tracking Henry would involve following him about the forests in the daytime. I hadn’t imagined doing anything in the dark.

  “How could we find anything the experts didn’t in there?” I asked.

  “If Henry’s hiding something, I was hoping he’d get sloppy now that the search parties are long gone.” Ethan pulled a long who-knows face.

  He began pulling things out of his tent. “Let’s get prepared. Let’s see... torches, extra batteries—and food in case we get stuck and can’t get out.”

  I didn’t even want to think about getting trapped in there. I didn’t know how we were going to get in, let alone get out again.

  I picked out food and a large bottle of water, and set it down beside my smaller backpack. I folded my wetsuit and balaclava into the bottom of the bag—if there was some kind of wet crawlspace under his house—I wanted to be ready. I didn’t tell the others I’d packed those. Australians didn’t seem to have crawlspaces under their houses—or even basements and attics. But the house we were about to search was old, and built by the American Fiveash family.

  Lacey and I shared a dinner of pasta with Ethan. Afterwards, I had Lacey play the recording of Henry Fiveash from the other day. Ethan listened with a fixed expression.

  By the sacred radiance of the sun

  The mysteries of Hecate and the night

  By all the op
eration of the orbs

  From whom we do exist and cease to be

  Swallowed its children and all destiny

  “It’s Shakespeare,” mused Ethan.

  “Thought so.” Lacey nodded.

  “How do you know for sure?” I asked Ethan.

  Ethan leant back on his elbow. “Granddad used to be in the amateur theatre company. I helped with sets sometimes—and a few times they even put me in plays.”

  “So, Henry’s a Shakespeare buff,” I said.

  Ethan screwed his face slightly. “I wouldn’t say he’s a buff. I’m sure those words aren’t totally correct. It’s King Lear. King Lear was disowning his daughter, Cordelia, so there should have been something about that. I think maybe the last line is wrong.”

  “King Lear is on our study list for third term,” I said. “Seeing as you’re so familiar with it, you can help Lacey and I analyze it.”

  “Well you might have to bring your books up here. ‘Cos this is where I’ll be.” Ethan left for his tent.

  Night fell with a hammer, pounding life and color from every tree and patch of sky. I hated the nights here. No television, computers and electric lights to chase the darkness away.

  The solar light faded, and there was nothing to do but move off to our tent—we had hours to wait anyway until we could be sure Henry was asleep, and we might as well try to get some sleep.

  * * * *

  The house seemed even larger than before, with the night shadowing the perimeters, merging the house with the limitless black.

  We skirted the house like thieves, approaching from the opposite side to the dogs’ yard.

  Ethan went straight for the back door of the house. It opened. Lacey stared around at me.

  The door opened into a dank kitchen. Cans of food littered the bench. I closed the door behind us.

  We checked the cupboards—just more cans and foods. Henry kept his kitchen well stocked. I inspected a cupboard full of brooms and dusters. Wafts of cleaning fluids caught at the back of my throat. I shut it quickly.

  We edged around the corridor to a large reception area, leading into what could be a ballroom. An enormous chandelier hung from a long chain in the center of the room. A long wisp of smoke curled upwards from the dark fireplace. Paintings of men and women in the stiff clothing of the 1800s hung crookedly on a wall that led up a wide, red-carpeted staircase.

  First, we had to find where Henry Fiveash slept. Ethan gave Lacey that task—she was the smallest and lightest of us, and likely to make the least noise. She turned back to us—her face white and taut—before she disappeared into the rooms behind the ballroom.

  She emerged a short time later. “He sleeps in a little room near the bathrooms.”

  Ethan nodded and gestured towards the staircase.

  We crept slowly up the stairs.

  Lacey peeked behind the paintings, straightening them as she did so. Ethan sighed audibly and hung the paintings crooked again.

  A long, spindly corridor ahead of the top landing was fixed with hexagonal light shades along its length. I wished I could turn the lights on—the dark closed in everywhere, thickening and congealing.

  Ethan reached back and pulled me by the lapel of my jacket, as though he knew I was stalling.

  The rooms upstairs were musty with a layer of dust over everything. You could believe they hadn’t been touched in a century. But I knew they’d been searched with a fine-toothed comb only weeks back. Some of the windows were cracked, allowing fine mist to swirl in. A few of the rooms had beds—most didn’t.

  It was hard to walk into a room without making footprints on the dusty floorboards. But Lacey had brought along a cloth to try to erase the prints. Hopefully the dust would soon settle back where it was before.

  The middle room on the third floor was the only room that held anything of interest. This room looked out towards the river at the front of the house. Yellowed lace dresses were lined up on a rack. Sheer curtains hung over a four poster bed. Against the wall, an intricate dollhouse stood—complete with tiny chandeliers, checkered flooring and wooden stairs. I crouched to see the delicate dolls, beautifully hand painted and dressed.

  I turned and jumped as I caught my reflection in a full-length mirror. A curled, handwritten note was tucked to the mirror’s frame. You and always you, it said in a tall, shaky font.

  “I don’t want to stay in here,” Lacey whispered.

  Ethan trained his torchlight underneath the bed and behind the dollhouse. “Next room.”

  We searched the rest of the rooms and the small attic. We paid the most attention to any cracks in the walls or any large object that could be hiding a door.

  Ethan shook his head. “Nothing.”

  We traipsed back to the ballroom. Lacey took us to the hallway outside the room where Henry slept. He snored in a low whistling rhythm. Creeping past, we entered the bathrooms. There were a series of three individual cubicles containing toilets and sinks. The old pipes were cracked and leaking. A bug climbed out of the sink’s drain in the last bathroom we looked at—then shot away under the torch beam.

  “Blech. Let’s go.” Lacey held a hand over her mouth and nose.

  “Yeah. Nothing to do here.” Ethan’s face was drawn.

  We took small steps past Henry’s room and found the passage back to the ballroom. We didn’t dare put our torches on so close to where Henry slept.

  Deep, silvery moonlit fell across us.

  Gaudy plastic flowers adorned an ugly glass vase on a side table on the other side of the stair well. The wall of the stairwell was deeply creviced around a rectangular shape. I pushed at the shape. It budged slightly.

  Ethan rounded my shoulder, pushing against the wood. A door swung open. Steps lead down in blackness. Stepping backwards, I eyed Ethan.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  I nodded.

  Lacey’s face was somber as she followed Ethan.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I told myself to move, go down there. It wasn’t fair that Lacey and Ethan had to do it by themselves.

  My feet stepped stiffly one after the other on the concrete stairs.

  The air was cold, damp—like standing in light rain on a winter’s night, except for the metallic, closed stench of dirt. The temperature was bone-achingly cold down here and I could barely stop my jaw from quivering.

  Ethan moved quickly, studying everything. Our torch beams crisscrossed each other’s as we searched the room. Barrels were lined up loosely on one side of the basement, and a ladder and a big freezer chest on the other. I shone my torch over the ceiling. It was just a ceiling, a few rusted tools hanging from rough-cut exposed beams.

  We checked the barrels next—they were empty.

  Marching across the room, Ethan reached for the freezer lid. He went to open it, then flinched and drew his arm back. A weight dragged through my body. I knew what Ethan feared was in the freezer, and I knew why he didn’t want to open it.

  Lacey cast a sympathetic look in Ethan’s direction. Stepping forward, she placed two hands on the lid, and lifted it. I moved closer, peering inside. Heads, legs and arms—all in pieces. All animal.

  She shut it quickly.

  None of us moved for a moment, and I knew why. The possibility of finding Aisha like that was too much, too grisly.

  We were just kids. We shouldn’t even be here doing this. We shouldn’t be trying to find her. This was reality, with every pretense stripped away.

  On the wall behind Ethan, yellow plastic was wound around a large nail. Stepping over, I unfurled a length of the plastic. Big black letters said, Police Line Do Not Cross, repeatedly on the tape.

  “It’s some of the police tape—that barricade stuff.”

  “They must have been down here already,” said Ethan.

  “Guess it makes sense.” I dropped the piece of tape. “If the basement was so easy for me to find in the dark, how easy would it have been for teams of police in daylight?”

  I shone my torchlight
around the floor again. If you looked closely, you could see different imprints of shoes on the dirty floor.

  Heading for the stairs, I turned back to see if Ethan and Lacey were following me. I wanted out of here—now. In my mind, I had a vision of Henry closing the cellar doors on us, locking us in here. My heart rattled in my chest.

  * * * *

  Lacey stuck a torch in the tent and inspected the sleeping bags. “Snakes can get in sometimes.”

  I wriggled into bed, half-expecting something to strike at my feet. But after a moment, I reclined stiffly, unable to move. The cold had driven so far into my bones I didn’t think it would ever leave me. I knew it wasn’t just the cold—it was the sawing terror of searching for the dead. Tonight we hadn’t even come close to finding Aisha, but we’d come too close to how we might find her.

  * * * *

  For the next three days, we faithfully tracked Henry Fiveash’s every movement.

  We knew he went to bed at eight at night and rose exactly at six-thirty in the morning. We knew he quoted his crazy Shakespeare mix of poetry in the woods. We knew he chopped wood with gusto—more than a person could ever want—and kept his fire burning day and night.

  Ethan kept intricate notes of everything Henry did, with black lines crisscrossing each other. He even wrote out the words to the Shakespeare quotes and tried to find hidden messages and meanings.

  Sitting there at the campsite—watching Ethan scrawling like a madman and Lacey grower quieter each day, and watching myself losing trust in Ethan—I couldn’t help but think that this was us now.

  Lacey and I made the long trek down the mountain, to where the phone reception worked, and called our mothers. I strained to sound normal, to sound like I was having an amazing time out canoeing and mountain biking.

  Right now, I wanted desperately to go home.

  Mom asked me to send her photos of the winter camp, but I made up some excuse about my mobile internet not working.

  I dropped the phone back into my pocket and returned to the campsite.