Eldritch Manor Page 10

On the way back to the house Willa suddenly remembered the tree nymphs. They too were aware that something was amiss. As Willa tiptoed through the foggy trees, they gathered around her, their voices chittering softly.

  As she began speaking they fell silent. Again she explained what had happened. To her surprise they just stared blankly at her, heads cocked as if to say “so?” She tried again, her anxiety rising.

  “The Dark Forces will come back! They’ll take over the house! And ... the world, and everything! Don’t you even care?”

  The fairies blinked and exchanged looks. “No” seemed to be the consensus. Willa could not believe what she was seeing. She glared at them angrily.

  “Fine. They’ll probably cut your trees down for kindling. Then we’ll see if you care or not!”

  Furious, she stomped away, but there was a sudden uproar behind her, a buzzing like an upended wasp’s nest. She turned back to see the reaction she was hoping for. The fairies were hopping up and down, raising their tiny fists and ready for a fight.

  Willa wandered aimlessly about the silent house for hours. At three o’clock it was time to wake Robert for the next shift. Before going upstairs, however, she decided to take a last look at the office.

  Doorstop in hand, she tiptoed into the room and peeked behind the desk. Thankfully, the holes in the wall didn’t seem to have grown any larger, but something glinted in the darkness. Heart pounding, she inched closer, crouching to peer through one of the larger openings. In the dense black beyond the wall something shifted. Something large, glistening, and black. A grey eye twitched open, and Willa stumbled back and fled from the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  Time runs out

  Willa woke again and again through the night, her mind cloudy and confused. It was a familiar feeling. Since Mab was out of commission, they’d be getting no dreams again, and everyone would be tired and irritable.

  Great, thought Willa. That’s just what we need right now.

  When she finally opened her eyes to the morning light, everything was quiet. She arose and dressed quickly. Outside, all was grey and woolly. Instead of burning off in the light of the rising sun, the fog had grown thicker. Willa could barely make out the shapes of the houses across the street. As she slipped on her shoes a loud thump and crash reverberated through the house.

  Another crash as she hit the hallway. The noise was coming from the library. She sprinted down the hall and threw open the door.

  Horace was angrily flinging books across the room. Willa glanced about wildly but saw nothing.

  “Horace! Horace! What is it?”

  Horace turned to her, his features twisted in frustration and rage. “I can’t ... I can’t ...” The anger drained suddenly from his face, and he fell into an armchair, covering his face with his hands. In the sudden silence came a strange sound ... sobbing. Horace’s shoulders shook. Willa ran and put her arm around him.

  “Horace, please. What’s wrong?”

  Horace raised his face from his hands and looked up at her with a look of total despair. I ... I can’t do it,” he rasped, his voice nearly gone. “I can’t call Miss Trang. I tried but I ... I ...” He gestured helplessly.

  Robert appeared in the doorway, armed with a fireplace poker. He scanned the room, ready for a fight.

  “Where are they? Just point me at ’em and I’ll ...”

  Horace rose, his cheeks still wet with tears. “I’m the enemy here, my friend.” He turned back to Willa. “In my youth I could have summoned her like that!” He snapped his fingers. “I could do it in my sleep. And now ...” He sagged, looking old and defeated. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t remember the words. I have them and then they’re gone. There are days I can’t even remember who I am.”

  He sank back into his chair. Robert blinked in surprise and backed quietly out of the room. Willa put her arms around Horace’s shoulders.

  “It’s all right,” she cooed, as if she were talking to a small child. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll manage, don’t worry....” But her heart was sinking ever lower as she spoke the words.

  She helped Horace to his room. He fell asleep as soon as he lay down and Willa went downstairs. She felt totally disjointed and jumpy; she had no idea what would happen next.

  Another house meeting convened in the dining room, without Horace.

  “Horace couldn’t call Miss Trang,” Willa said simply, not wanting to say any more than that. As she feared, Belle started grousing right away.

  “Well, we should have seen that coming. Mr. Know-it-All can’t deliver, eh?”

  It was decided that since Miss Trang could not be summoned, someone had to go directly to the Grand Council and find her. Robert knew the way and could certainly travel the quickest of any of them, so he was selected for the job.

  Half an hour later, hearty goodbyes were exchanged as Robert clip-clopped out the front door and picked his way down the porch steps. Willa looked up and down nervously. She had no idea how he would do this without being seen. It was still early, though, the streets were empty and the fog grew ever thicker. In fact, visibility was now so bad that Willa couldn’t see the houses across the street at all.

  She walked with Robert to the front gate. The air was calm and cold. Nothing moved. As Willa slung a bag of provisions around his neck, Robert smiled

  at her.

  “No problem. I’ll fetch Miss Trang as quick as a wink and she’ll take care of all this nonsense. She’s more ... up on this sort of thing than we are. You’ll see.”

  He was trying to reassure her, but as Willa looked up at him she knew they were both frightened.

  “I know, Robert. We’ll be okay.” She gave him a warm smile and he trotted off into the fog with a final salute.

  Back inside Willa found Horace coming down the stairs, very slowly, his white hair sticking out in all directions. She offered her arm and he leaned on it heavily.

  “Robert’s gone to bring Miss Trang back.”

  Horace just nodded, not meeting her eyes. She led him toward the parlour, where great whallops and thuds could be heard.

  Tengu was teaching Belle and Baz some kind of martial art. All three were armed with mop and broom handles, the ends whittled into crude spears. They were whipping these homemade weapons around in a menacing fashion. Menacing to the china, mostly, as the occasional teacup was dispatched with a musical crash. Baz in particular was having great difficulties, since the cone around her neck was seriously hampering her vision.

  Willa called for a halt. The threesome grinned at each other, obviously quite proud of themselves and feeling quite dangerous.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a good war hammer right now,” sighed Tengu. “Then nothing could stop us!”

  He struck a warlike pose. Willa just smiled. Horace settled into his favourite armchair. Willa looked in on Mab. She still lay in a deep sleep. The needles and yarn were under her bed. Willa plunked down on the sofa and looked at them all.

  “Why is all this even happening? I don’t get it. Why is the Other Side coming here? What do they want from all of you?”

  “It’s not about us,” Belle answered, shaking her head. “We are of no use to anyone anymore.”

  “Then what do they want? We have to figure this out or we can’t fight them. What do they want?”

  Tengu shrugged. “They’ve always wanted to live in this world.”

  “So what’s stopping them?”

  “Time.”

  Willa turned. It was Horace, staring at the floor as if in a trance. “Our ‘eternal world’ time is different from your ‘mortal world’ time. The only way we can live in your world is if we monitor our time to move along at the same pace as yours. The Other Side has never been able to do this.”

  “And how do you do it?”

  Horace shook his head. “Oh, I don’t do it. I’m afraid I’ve never paid much attention to such things. Miss Trang’s responsibility, you know. This house must have a talisman of some sort, with some kind o
f action that regulates the time — keeps our time in here the same as the time out there.”

  Willa thought hard. “A talisman ... that must be what the cats were looking for. Does anyone know what our talisman is?” She looked to the others but they all shrugged. “So how do we know they haven’t got it yet?”

  “If the Other Side had it we would certainly know.” Horace was sitting straighter in his chair. He was starting to sound like his old self, speaking with more authority. “For one thing we would all be destroyed, and probably the town as well. The Dark Forces would use the talisman to enter the mortal world, existing in proper time with it, and thus be able to conquer it.”

  Horace looked a little superior for a moment. “After all, you humans don’t have anything that would be useful in fighting the Dark Forces. Nothing that would do much good at all.”

  This made Willa feel rather cold inside, but she tried to stay on track. “So they don’t have it. But they are coming for it. Coming in through the holes in the walls to look for it. And we have to protect it and keep it safe ... but we don’t even know what it is!”

  Willa shook her head. The situation seemed hopeless, but the challenge seemed to have roused Horace. He rose from his chair and headed toward the office, a new life in him, new strength in his voice. “Don’t look so glum, my dear. Let’s apply a little brainpower to the problem.”

  They all set to work searching for the talisman, without any idea of what it was. Willa didn’t know how they’d know when they found it, but the others were eager. In fact, they were more energetic and cheerful than she’d ever seen them. As a group they combed through the mess of Miss Trang’s office, then headed upstairs to her room.

  At the door Willa felt the others hesitate, hanging back fearfully. Willa had never been allowed inside, and obviously they’d never gone in either. She gave them a smile. “She’s not here, remember,” she said and reached for the doorknob.

  Miss Trang’s room was actually very easy to search, because there was nothing in it. It was a large room with a high vaulted ceiling, but there wasn’t a stick of furniture. Not even a bed. They looked around in some confusion.

  “She doesn’t sleep,” whispered Baz in awe.

  “Not in a bed at least,” muttered Horace, nervously glancing up at the rafters.

  Their search grew quieter and more urgent as they progressed through every room in the house, ending up back in the parlour. They sat and were silent for a long while. Finally Belle cleared her throat.

  “It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.”

  “No knitting needles clicking away,” said Willa with a smile. Their eyes fell on the dollhouse.

  “I always take my naps here, listening to Mab knitting,” said Baz, her voice soft with worry. “I mean ... I used to. Clickety clickety clickety ...”

  Belle rolled her eyes. “Clickety clack all day. She’s been knitting that same scarf ever since I moved in here, and never finishes it!”

  Willa sat up suddenly. “Horace, you said earlier that a time talisman required some kind of action?”

  “Yes, some kind of movement is needed. I knew of a kettle talisman once. It had to be kept boiling at all times. Someone had to pour water into it constantly.” Horace paused, smiling. “The humidity turned the place into a steambath. Curled all the wallpaper.”

  Tengu spoke up. “I heard of a house where the residents had a deck of cards for a talisman. They had to keep playing gin rummy or time would stop. They had shifts of three hours on, three hours off, all day and all night ...”

  Willa wasn’t listening. She was down on her knees at the dollhouse. She pulled out a tiny bundle of loose yarn which she held it up triumphantly, her eyes bright.

  “The scarf!” she crowed.

  Belle sniffed. “That’s not a scarf, that’s yarn.”

  “It’s yarn now, but it was a scarf.” Willa appealed to Horace. “When I first saw this it was about eight inches long. During our meeting last night it was only five or six inches long. When we put her to bed I noticed some of it had unravelled. And now it’s unravelled even more. Isn’t it possible that Mab’s knitting was keeping our time going?”

  A smile slowly spread over Horace’s face. “Willa, you’re a wonder!”

  Willa turned back to the dollhouse, suddenly very conscious of the single strand of yarn running back into Mab’s bedroom. She followed it carefully to the needles. There were only a few rows of knitting left. As they all stared, the stitches ever so slowly dropped out, like an invisible hand was tugging at the yarn. Willa’s eyes grew wide.

  “Our time is running out!” She looked around. “Does anyone know how to knit?”

  Head shakes, panicky looks. Willa stared helplessly at the tiny needles in her hand, smaller than toothpicks. Why had she never learned to knit? Her mother had offered to teach her once, she remembered, and a sudden wave of despair swept over her.

  She shut her eyes, wishing her mom was there. She heard nothing but wind for a moment, and felt cold. Then in her mind she could see her mom knitting, patiently clicking away at a green toque. Willa tried to focus on her hands. She could see them in action, looping the yarn around, tucking it under....

  When she opened her eyes the needles were still in her palm, with only one row of tiny stitches in place.

  “Get me a magnifying glass!” she hollered, dropping to her knees and trying to get a grip on the needles with her big, clumsy fingers. Horace raced into the office and came back with the glass. He tried to hold it over the knitting, but his hand shook so much that he had to give it to Belle, who was steady as a rock.

  “Go on, Willa,” she urged, her voice firm.

  Willa looped and tucked once, twice, slowly getting into the swing of it, but her stitches were big and uneven next to Mab’s fine work, which was nearly all gone now. She paused, just for a moment, as the last of the tiny stitches was pulled by that unseen hand. Horace moved to the window and peered out.

  “We’re still in time, but it’s ... clunky.”

  Willa squinted and hurriedly knitted two full rows of crazy stitches, then jumped up to look out the window.

  The fog had thinned somewhat. The butcher birds lined the fence again, and beyond that a few neighbours were out on the street. She saw immediately what Horace meant by “clunky.” People were moving jerkily, fast for a moment, then slow, fast, slow, then infinitely slow. And the daylight flickered like an old-fashioned silent movie, cold and grey.

  “It’s my knitting,” wailed Willa. “My hands are too big!” Then she saw a familiar figure a little distance down the road.

  “MOM!”

  Her mother was dashing, in slow motion, toward the house. She was in her bathrobe, with her hair in disarray and slippers flapping under her feet. Everyone else on the street seemed in a trance but her mom’s face was full of panic and concern. She was coming to them, to help! Willa choked back a sob, excited and hopeful. Then she looked down to her knitting again. She had to knit enough time for her mom to get there.

  She stared down at her work. She could hardly hear the others, they seemed far away, indistinct. She tried to keep knitting, but her hands were shaking now and her heart was pounding.

  “Horace! What will happen if I stop?”

  Horace’s voice burbled quietly but she could make out none of the words. Even the click of the needles was muffled now, but she was too scared to look up. She was shaking so bad she could barely continue, and her stitches were getting worse. She heard a scream and the screeching of birds. She looked up.

  Her mom was at the front gate. The butcher birds were in the air, circling, their talons extended as they swiped murderously at her. She slowed and shielded her face with her arms, but the birds tore at her sleeve. They swooped and she stumbled, grabbing on to the fence for support. The largest butcher bird dove at her, its claws aimed at her exposed face.

  Willa let out a cry as she grabbed the loose end of the yarn and yanked out all of her stitches. She caught a brief glimpse of
the bird, frozen in place in the air, of her mother cowering ... then there was a great cracking sound, like very sharp thunder. The air seemed to shatter, the light outside exploded, white and blinding. Then all was still.

  Time had stopped. And they were alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Them and It

  Willa squeezed her eyes closed against the painfully bright light, squeezing the tiny ball of yarn in her fist. After a few moments the light began to dim and she could hear the others moving about. Willa cautiously opened her eyes. They were all still there. The parlour was still there. Out the window she could see the yard up to the gate, but beyond that was a blank grey page. It wasn’t foggy grey, but flat grey, like a painted wall. Willa could make out a few of the butcher birds in frozen poses in the air but couldn’t see her mother at all. Beyond the gate and fence there was nothing.

  Horace, Belle, Baz, Tengu, and Willa looked at each other in the pale light. Behind them was a faint, incessant clanging as Fadiyah restlessly circled her cage.

  Horace cleared his throat. “We are now outside time.”

  The others sat down. Willa stood alone in the middle of the room. “Are we ... in your time?” her voice trembled. “Magic time? Immortal time?”

  “No, unfortunately.”

  “We’re someplace else entirely?”

  “Sometime else, yes.”

  Willa sighed. She sensed that thinking too hard about this time business would just get in the way of what had to be done.

  “So we are all alone?” she persisted. Horace nodded and she went on. “Can the other side find us here?”

  Horace nodded again. “Oh, yes. We’re even closer to them now.”

  Willa pointed out at the blank greyness. “What if we went out there. Went somewhere else?”

  Horace gazed out the window, squinting doubtfully. “There’s nowhere else out there. I don’t know what is there, but if we go through that gate we might never find our way back, and this house is the only way to get back to your world.”