Sophie brought the rusty ax down on a pile of scattered human bones. They cracked and shattered, yellow splinters flying past her face and hitting the wall behind her. The tunnels below were flooded, and all the bones there were floating around, impossible to reach through the murky water. It was Sophie’s idea to start breaking up the bone chairs instead.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and leaned against the ax, trying not to think about who the bones once belonged to, or whose idea it was to turn them into pieces of furniture. If she could do that, the task was almost relaxing, and it kept her mind away from the Monster Box. Whenever she thought about it she felt a bit feverish, excited and nervous at the same time. She just needed to decide where to start looking.
“Concentrate or you’ll chop yer fingers off,” said Scree, making her jump.
“I’m trying not to look at all these dead people.”
“They’re not dead people, they’re chairs. It was a sort of honor, having your bones made into bits of furniture. It was so you’d be useful. Here,” he added kindly. “If you stick around long enough, you can be a chair, too. I don’t offer that to everyone.”
Sophie shuddered. “It takes a special kind of person to think a chair made out of human bones is tasteful.”
“It’s not bad just ’cause you don’t understand it,” said Scree. “Why do you think everyone tells tales about sea draugrs? It’s ’cause they don’t understand the things that go bump in the night. So they turn ’em into unreal monsters instead.”
“Of course sea draugrs are real!” she said, horrified.
“You ever seen one? I reckon they’re big ol’ fish that people see when they’re drunk.”
“I thought you believe in ghosts. What about the glowfish?”
“Them’s real ghosts,” he said. “Don’t be stupid. Hold up, they’re at it again.”
There was a loud crack and the catacombs shook. The echo rolled through the tunnels, deep and submarine-like. When it faded Scree began picking through the bones again, which had shivered across the floor and mixed together.
“Sounded like a big ’un,” he said. “I’d go check on it, if I were you.”
“Pray for me,” Sophie said.
It had been pouring for hours now, all through the night and into the morning. The rain was thick and gray like a nightmare, and the sky was dumping it on the island like it was trying to wash it away. Stepping onto the oyster beach was like walking into a wall of water. Her short hair was plastered to her face, and her clothes became so heavy she could hardly walk. The sack of bones that she’d left by the catacomb entrance was gone. All that was left was a sad slip of cloth.
The culprit, a gelatinous, many-tentacled monster, flung a chunk of rock at her. It whizzed past her shoulder and smashed on the cliff face, spattering bits of black. It turned out the sea creatures didn’t like the rain much. A few hours into the deluge, they had started taking chunks from the side of the island, and they hadn’t stopped since.
“I know you’re not really hungry,” she said. “You just wanted me to come out, didn’t you?”
Something fell from the sky—something small and round and yellow-white—and hit her on the head.
She collected the missile, a mouse skull, and looked up. Something was moving on the roof. She tried to call out, but got a mouth full of water and gurgled instead.
As she got back inside, Gail slipped in behind her. He was soaking wet and looked pleased.
“Did you throw this at me?” she said, holding up the skull.
“Maybe,” he said, smirking. “I’m here to give you a message. Ralf says not to go anywhere near the top of the house, because we’re practicing our play and we’re sick of your slimy little face.”
“I wouldn’t come anywhere near you if you paid me,” she said as he skipped away.
Sophie went back to Scree and smashed the last of the chairs, using her scissors to hack off the lumps of yellow glue. She’d sharpened them earlier until they were as keen as razors.
The rain continued its endless drumming. One of Laurel’s ceiling-dusting spiders floated out of a tunnel and washed up at Sophie’s feet, upturned and wriggling its legs. She put it back on its feet and it scuttled away, brandishing a set of small wire brushes.
“Ain’t seen one of those working in a while,” said Scree. “I thought they were all wound down. But who knows what’s stuck in there?”
“More horrible inventions, probably. I’d love to find one that chops bones.”
“That’ll be why you were pokin’ around the clock room, is it? Don’t deny it. I heard you in there last night, moving things around.”
“I didn’t go anywhere last night,” she said. “I don’t even know what the clock room is.”
“You do,” he said. “Where the feeding bell is. I saw you. I saw you creep out of your room at midnight, all shadowlike, and I was awake so I followed, and then I lost you but I could hear you going in.”
“I was asleep at midnight,” she said, her mouth going dry.
“Is that so?” he said, winking conspiratorially. “Must be magic.”
He nudged her in the ribs and cackled, then turned back to raking the bones into a pile. Sophie tried to keep chipping away with the scissors, but her palms were damp and they kept slipping through her fingers. One of the twins was in her room last night, making sure she wasn’t up to something. It felt like her skin was trying to crawl away from the backs of her hands. The image of Ralf’s or Gail’s face hovering over hers while she slept . . . ugh!
But then they went to the clock room. Why would they do that, unless they were checking something?
She slowly stopped scraping the bones and looked at her scissors, long-bladed and silver. She pushed them up her sleeve.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Sophie said. “I need to do something.”
“What’s so important you have to do it right now?” Scree said. “It’s coming off your tea break. Not that you get one.” He cackled again, so hard he started wheezing.
Sophie hurried out of the catacombs, splashing through the stream of water that was pouring over the floor. At the top of the stairs, at the entrance to the house, someone stepped out of the shadows.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Gail said, almost pleasantly.
“Upstairs,” said Sophie, equally almost pleasantly. “You’ve obviously finished rehearsing.”
She tried to walk past him, but he barred her way again.
“We told you not to go upstairs,” he said. “What do you need up there?”
Sophie sighed theatrically. The cold metal of the scissors pressed against her wrist.
“There’s a huge wardrobe made out of bones up there, right?” she said. “Third floor. End of the west wing. I need to smash it up, so we can feed the sea creatures and stop them from tearing your heads off.”
“You don’t have anything to smash it with,” said Gail.
“I’m not going to drag an ax all the way up the stairs. I’ll use a sword. There are hundreds of them around the house.”
“Ralf would push you over and stand on your head,” said Gail. “Maybe I’ll do the same.”
“But you won’t, will you?” she said. Gail frowned, which made him look more sideways than ever. It’s not that there was anything wrong with his back, Sophie realized, only that he slouched, like he was trying to make himself small. “You’re not as cruel as Ralf. And you’re a little bit scared of him.”
“That’s not true,” Gail said. “Why would I be?”
“Because he’s nasty,” she said. “And you’re not. Well, not as much.”
“I’m every bit as bad as Ralf is,” said Gail. “You’re just too stupid to see it.”
“If you say so. But right now there are creatures outside waiting to be fed, and if you don’t let me get to this wardrobe they’ll come through the windows and suck you and Ralf into the sea. So do you mind?” She smiled at him.
Gail’s eyes narrowed and he let her pass. Heart pounding, she climbed the stairs with the curled oyster banisters and ascended to the clock room.
After a few minutes she could hear floorboards creaking behind her, and the occasional scrape of shoes. She sped up, turning right down the corridor of portraits, and so did her pursuer, until she finally stopped and turned.
Gail pulled back into the shadows, but he was too slow, and she hauled him out by the collar.
“Why are you stalking me?”
“You’re going the wrong way,” he accused, jerking out of her grasp. “I was checking you didn’t get lost, and you already have. It looks like you’re not going to the wardrobe at all. Why would that be?”
“Get lost, you creep,” she said. “I don’t need you watching over me.”
“Get lost,” he squeaked, his face pulling itself long and frightened.
“Stop doing that!”
He blinked, then smiled horribly.
“You’re still going the wrong way. Off you go, before I do something that will really scare you.”
After a moment of hesitation she started walking back the way she came. This time Gail didn’t follow her, but she knew he’d be watching, and soon he would go to the clock room to make sure she didn’t arrive a different way. She walked down the main staircase to the entrance hall, paused halfway down, and listened.
Gail hadn’t come after her. She crept back up the stairs, checking at the top that Gail had moved on, and went left to Cartwright’s room.
He was sitting on the bed, poring over old maps of the house. They were blurry and looked like they’d been chewed up.
“These are useless,” he said as she came in. “I thought I might find a hidden room somewhere, but it’s impossible to tell. I think someone drew these with their eyes closed.”
“Where’s Ralf?” she asked.
“Standing around the corner. He’s been there for three hours. He might have the personality of a psychotic toddler, but he’s certainly patient.”
When she didn’t reply Cartwright looked at her properly. Sophie let the scissors drop from her sleeve into her hand. Confusion spread over his face, then panic. He let go of the papers.
“Stay still, Cartwright,” she said calmly.
She strode toward him. He stood so fast he knocked his chair over, but Sophie kept going until he was backed against the wall.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Run when I tell you to. Go as fast as you can, away from the clock room. Scream, that might help.”
“I’m not screami—”
“Do you want me to find your box?” she said.
“Er . . . yes?”
“All right,” she said, and she stabbed him in the arm with the scissors.
Cartwright screamed, long and loud.
“You’re insane,” he shrieked, clutching his arm, the scissors jutting from his jacket.
“Go!” She pushed him, and Cartwright, in a state of shock, took off, fleeing down the hallway. She hid behind the door frame just as Gail came dashing past and careered straight into Ralf. They saw Cartwright, and the blood on his jacket, and the scissors hanging from his arm, and goggled. They were frozen as he ran around the corner. They looked at each other.
“It can’t be,” said Gail, his fingers wriggling like he’d seen a bowl of ice cream.
“The scissor-maker’s ghost!” cried Ralf.
They gave a whoop of delight and took off after Cartwright, their coats flapping behind them. Sophie gasped with laughter for five seconds, then raced toward the clock room before she could change her mind. She heard Cartwright and the twins running around above her, the chaos as furniture fell over.
“Here, ghosty-ghosty!” the twins called, laughing. “Give us our wishy-wishy!”
At the entrance to the clock room, Sophie rattled the door handle, looking around desperately. There was a suit of armor by the window. She wrestled its sword out of its fist and used the hilt to smash the lock on the door, once, twice, three times, and already her arms were aching. The door budged slightly, but the lock didn’t give. The chase passed above her, and now it was coming down the stairs, about ten seconds away. She tried again. The door shook. She hit it one more time, feeling her shoulder crack with the effort, and then the door was open, the lock in bits on the floor.
She dodged into the cavernous, dark room and slammed the door behind her, wedging it shut with the sword. Sophie stood there, her back against the door, and breathed. She could feel things moving around her, the air thick with low trembling and ticking.
She was on a thin bridge. There was a huge void right beneath her, and catching on a thin sliver of light from the door, a sea of flashing cogs and wheels and levers. The inside of the clock room was full of sharp, brassy teeth like you’d find on a mechanical mincer.
Just as she was wondering what to do next the lights turned on, and she saw Laurel waiting for her.