Part 22 (1/2)

”I don't get it,” the frog murmured. ”There were windows on the outside. Lots of them.”

Jack wiped his brow with his sleeve and found that it was wet. Jill had begun chewing her bottom lip.

”What's taking them so long?” Jill wondered.

”Do you think that's a good sign, or a bad sign?” Jack asked.

”Bad sign,” said the frog. ”Definitely a bad sign.”

They were on the first floor again. Jill walked to the front door and tried it. It would not budge.

”I'm going to ask,” said Jack. His hand was on the door to the Others' room.

”I wouldn't,” Jill said.

”Me neither,” agreed the frog.

But Jack turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door. He peered in.

The room was empty.

”Where are they?” Jack asked, scratching his head.

”Did they leave when we were looking around?” Jill wondered.

”I do not like this,” the frog said. ”I do not like this at all.”

The room was not quite as s.p.a.cious or grand as the others, but it had a definite, delicate beauty. The floor was covered with a rug as deep and pure a blue as the sea. And, like the sea, it seemed to rock and s.h.i.+mmer beneath them. Around its border was a filigree of golden thread that looked for all the world like the pristine coast of a magical land. The children were mesmerized. ”Look at this stuff . . .” muttered Jack. Against the wall stood a chest. Inside were stacked bar upon bar of gold that glittered red instead of yellow. Jill examined a small cherrywood box, sitting on a side table. Cautiously, she opened it. High ethereal music rose from within: ”Come, come, where heartache's never been . . .” Jill shut it quickly and s.h.i.+vered. She looked at Jack. He hadn't heard a thing. He was examining the plush blue rug.

”Where are they?” Jill whispered.

”Not here. Let's go,” said the frog.

Jack had lifted a corner of the rug. Its blue s.h.i.+fted, the golden border spreading out into the middle, as if the water of the sea were draining away. And then Jack said, ”Here. They're here.”

Jill moved to his side. Under the rug was a large, stone trapdoor.

”That's weird,” said Jill quietly.

”Yes, it is,” replied Jack.

”Why would they hide that?” Jill asked.

For a moment, no one uttered a word. And then Jack said, ”Why don't we find out?”

And now, dear reader, I will give you a little warning. I have not warned you much through the course of this book (and occasionally I forgot to until it was too late-sorry about that).

But now I must indeed warn you. I do not know if little children are reading, or hearing, this book. After all that revolting bloodshed with the giants, and then the goblins, not to mention that horrible scene with the mermaid and the drowned girl, I certainly hope they are not.

But in case they are, or in case older children are reading this story and do not appreciate having the bejeezus scared out of them, or in case you are an adult and you just aren't really in the mood to be upset, I warn all of you: This next part is not so nice.

It took both children, using all of their combined might, to lift the heavy stone trapdoor. Behind it, beneath it, was darkness. The small flames of the candles in the room fluttered as a rush of wind came up from the pit.

”Uh, guys?” said the frog, peering just above the edge of Jack's pocket. ”We're not going down there, right?”

But Jack and Jill had come too far, done too much, to turn back now. Besides, the only door to the house was locked, and there were no windows. Where else could they go?

”Okay?” said Jill.

”Okay,” said Jack.

”Not okay,” said the frog.

Jill reached her foot probingly into the impenetrable gloom. Her foot touched something. She put weight on it. The something held.

She stood on the something and reached her foot forward again. Again, she found something to rest on. She s.h.i.+fted her weight carefully. This something, too, held her. And now she could tell what the somethings were. They were stairs.

Jack and Jill, holding hands, descended into the heart of the darkness.

One step, and the children stopped. One more step, and they stopped again. The stairs were not even, but rather k.n.o.bby and irregular. They twisted around and around in a tight spiral. Jack's and Jill's clasped hands were slick, and they held onto one another so hard they could not feel their own fingers. One more step. And another. And another.

And then the obscurity was softened-there rose, from beneath, an eerie, flickering yellow. A few more steps, and Jack and Jill found a candle that seemed to hang, suspended, in the darkness. Jack reached out his hand and found a curving wall. It was not smooth. It was strangely ridged, oddly b.u.mpy. He let his hand trail along it as they descended to the floating candle.

When they were but a few steps away from it, they began to make out what held the candle up. It was a strange candlestick, extended from the wall. The candlestick was long and straight and smooth in the middle, but at either end was a rounded protrusion. Even in the flickering yellow candlelight, the children could see that the candlestick was white. Bone white.

And then Jill was screaming. Jack turned around, threw his arms around her, and then, because she would not stop screaming, he clapped his hand over her mouth. Jill's eyes were wide, and they were rolling around in her head. Jack whispered, ”What? What?” But still her eyes rolled. He tried to follow their frantic gaze. He looked at the candlestick. Then he followed the wall down. Then he examined the stairs that they were standing on. A cry rose to Jack's lips, but he clamped them shut and held it in. The candlestick, the walls, the stairs were made of human bones.

”Run!” the frog cried. ”Run!” Jack's hand shot out and clamped his mouth shut, too.

Jack's and Jill's eyes locked in the darkness.

They stood up.

Okay.

Imagine you were over at someone's house. Let's say for a playdate.

Your friend disappears for a moment, and you happened to go looking for her. You look all over the place. Then you look in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

And let's say that you discover that the bas.e.m.e.nt was composed entirely of human bones.