Ned Vizzini - House of Secrets

“I don’t have a blade,” protested Eleanor.

“Your fork, then. In a fight you can use your hand to deliver butt-end knife strikes – Nell, that’s not funny. Stand with your legs shoulder-width apart. Don’t you guys know anything? Ugh, forget it.”

Brendan led his sisters out of the kitchen, past the suit of armour that was knocked over in the hall. “Hold on.” He went back to the kitchen, grabbed some duct tape, and taped the breastplate around Cordelia. Then he put the helmet on and gave Eleanor the gauntlets, which were big enough to reach from her elbows to her wrists. Thus armed, looking better prepared for Halloween than for a fantastical forest, the Walker children opened the front door and stepped outside.

Brendan squinted in the light. The helmet hadn’t been such a good idea: the eye slits were meant for someone with further-apart eyes. He tried to take it off, but it was stuck on his head. Cordelia tipped her head back and saw the tops of the trees, dozens of metres up, against slivers of blue sky.

“Mum!” Eleanor called. “Mummy! Are you out here?”

“Dad! Hey, Dad, can you hear us?” Brendan said. “We’re safe! Kind of…”

For a moment, the birds and bugs dipped into quiet… and then they started up again, filling the void as if the Walkers had never spoken. The children circled the house, sticking together, weapons drawn, calling out as they went. Brendan longed for anything familiar, even the stone angel. He noted the terrifying uniformity of the wilderness that surrounded them. Apart from the distant brook they had spotted through the attic window, there wasn’t anything to indicate direction. The only way to tell which way was which was by looking at the shadows of the trees. And if we didn’t go back in time, who’s to say we’re not in some weird place where the sun rises in the west and sets in the east?

When the Walkers came back around to the front door, they were no closer to finding their parents, but their calls had attracted something else.

A wolf, over two metres from tail to snout, was sniffing the ground in front of their home.

The wolf raised its head, revealing scarred, matted fur and milky, rabid eyes. It growled, stretching the noise out like a fake smile, exposing double rows of wet, razor-sharp teeth. It took a step towards them.

“Bren!” Cordelia whispered. “What do we do?”

Brendan tried to remember what he’d been taught in Boy Scouts about animal attacks – you were supposed to not move, stay quiet, and be calm; the animal wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t bother it – but that seemed irrelevant under the gaze of this creature, which clearly intended to eat them. All he could do was tense his muscles and gulp. The wolf bent its head over Eleanor. It was fifteen centimetres taller than her; it looked capable of swallowing her whole. The line of its mouth ran nearly all the way up its triangular head. Spittle gathered where its black lips were subsumed by fur.

The wolf sniffed Eleanor. Her breath came in tight jerks. Tears streamed down her face. The wolf opened its jaws. She closed her eyes, hyperventilating, smelling its meaty breath—

And the wolf stopped, cocked its head, and ran off behind the house.

Brendan couldn’t believe it. He caught Eleanor as her knees gave out, hugging her with Cordelia, using all his strength to tear off his helmet and kiss her hair.

“What happened?” Eleanor asked. “I thought I was gonna die!”

“The wolf must’ve been scared by us.”

“By what, our fierce appearance?” Cordelia said.

“Maybe,” suggested Brendan.

“Don’t be stupid. It heard something. Listen.”

They all heard it now, far off in the woods: hoofbeats.

“Horses?” Eleanor asked hopefully.

The sound grew louder, drumming through the ground into their legs and the pits of their stomachs. “Everyone inside,” Cordelia said.

“But Deal,” Eleanor began, “I want—”

“Now. Someone’s coming!”

Cordelia rushed to the entrance of Kristoff House. Brendan followed, dragging Eleanor with him. They slammed the door and turned all the locks. Brendan tried to set the house alarm, frantically pressing buttons on the keypad.

“Bren!” said Cordelia. “There’s no electricity!”

“Right, my bad.”

Cordelia led them to a window, inched open a shutter, and peeked out.

“What do you see?” Eleanor asked.

“Shh.” The truth was that Cordelia found it difficult to describe what she saw without sounding completely insane.

A band of warriors was riding up to the house on horseback. They were muscular and massive and terrifying, from the glinting helmets on their heads to the knifelike spurs that rattled on their leather boots. They had thick, bristly beards and big full-plate armour that made her breastplate look like a toy. They carried swords, axes and bows. Their boots were caked with dried mud… or was it blood?

“How many horses are there?” asked Eleanor.

“Seven, I think, but Nell, that doesn’t matter—”

“Let me see!” Eleanor pushed her sister aside. “Oh my gosh!”

Brendan crowded her out. “What is this, Lord of the Rings, the reality show?”

The siblings jostled for position, finding a way to all peer out. The warriors dismounted and tied their steeds to trees. They approached the house with caution. The one who was clearly the leader had a maroon feather sticking up from his helmet like a plume of blood. He took off the helmet to reveal pockmarked skin and a scar running from his ear to his chin. When he turned to speak to his men, the Walkers saw the glint of his black, suspicious eyes.

“A witches’ den. This was not here yesterday,” he declared.

One of his compatriots, a red-haired, red-bearded man, grabbed his arm: “Slayne, m’lord, could be a trap.”

Slayne (good name, thought Brendan; he looks like he’s slain a lot of people) grinned, twisting his scar like a second smile, bearing blackened stumps of teeth. “If there are witches… we need to get inside. And quickly kill them all.”

“Um, may I suggest we go to the attic?” whispered Cordelia.

The Walkers dashed away from the window.

At the front door, Slayne grabbed the knob, found it locked, and turned to his red-headed number two. “Krom?”

Krom handed him a battle-axe. Slayne swung. The first blow left a gaping hole in the door. The second sent it flying off its hinges.

Slayne and his men entered, on guard.

“A great battle was waged here,” said Slayne. He drew his sword, stabbed it through the remains of Bellamy Walker’s iPad, and lifted it off the ground. “And at least one of the parties was a witch. This appears to be some sort of occult toy for children.”

Slayne led the warriors through the living room and library as the Walkers huddled in the attic. They could hear the warriors’ clomping boots and gruff voices, but not their words.

“We can’t just sit here,” Eleanor said. “We’ve got to find out what they want. Maybe they know where Mum and Dad are!”

“How do you propose to find that out?” Brendan asked.

“Watch.” Eleanor opened the attic door and started down to the second-floor hallway.

“No, Nell!”

“Stop!”

But it was too late. Eleanor was already opening the door to the dumbwaiter. The warriors were in the kitchen, below her, and sound travelled directly up the hollow shaft. It was like she was in the midst of the warriors as they investigated their alien surroundings.

“This appears to be a witches’ torture chamber,” Slayne said. Eleanor heard the microwave door pop open. “Possibly a box for shrunken victims.” Eleanor stifled a laugh.

In the kitchen, Slayne opened the fridge and paused. Here was a pleasant surprise. His men were all hungry, and the power hadn’t been out long. Slayne tossed an apple aside and went for a jar of Hellmann’s mayonnaise. Behind him, Krom ripped open a box of Cap’n Crunch, sniffed it, ate a handful, and started pouring it into his mouth: “It’th good!” Slayne unscrewed the mayo and scooped out a big clump.