SUNDAY, 3:25 A.M.
Now that Xander knew Wuzzy had recorded Toria’s encounter with the man, Dad had to hear it. Before, when he didn’t know if the bear had captured any important sounds at all, he didn’t want to get Dad’s hopes up or give him another reason to suspect his son was paranoid.
Xander approached him, bear in hand.
“What is it, Son?” Dad whispered. He shifted on the box. The bat gleamed in the hallway lights. It made Xander feel better, how solid it appeared, how firmly his father gripped it.
Xander said, “We’re not going crazy.”
His dad offered a thin smile. “I know.”
“I mean, I had kind of thought, you know . . . with the last family disappearing . . .”
“Mass hysteria?” his father asked. “You thought we were all going crazy together?”
Xander felt his face flush. It sounded ridiculous coming out of his father. “Well, I was starting to think the house was like . . . I don’t know . . . like, driving us crazy, I guess.”
He shook his head. “Stupid, I know.”
Dad slipped off the box. He touched Xander on the arm. “Not stupid. Say the house really is able to do all these weird things—drop intruders in our midst, even send you back to fight a gladiator. If it could do all that, then simply driving a whole family crazy doesn’t seem like such a big deal, does it? What’s more impossible: a house that makes you think crazy things, or a house that really does crazy things?
Xander nodded. “Either way, it’s way off the charts, right?”
One of Dad’s eyebrows curved up. “Way off,” he agreed. “What’s with the bear?”
Xander gave Wuzzy a little shake. He said, “Evidence we’re not crazy.” He turned it on and squeezed the paw. Toria’s voice came through. “Who is it?” Creak. Creeeak. “Who—?” Then the booming voice: “Sas ehei na erthete na paiksei.”
As soon as the last syllable came out of Wuzzy, something overhead banged. Maybe a slamming door. Or a body hitting the floor up there. The ceiling joists creaked. Footsteps.
Wuzzy screamed in Toria’s voice.
Xander turned it off. His heart pounded like a lowrider’s bass speaker: Ba-boomp! Ba-boomp! Ba-boomp! Ba-boomp! He stared at the ceiling. No more sounds. He lowered his eyes to his Dad’s face. There was fear there. Fear. When your dad was frightened, there was something to be frightened about.
“What was—” Xander started.
“Shhh.” Dad held up one hand. With the other, he kept his grip on the bat. His eyes roamed the ceiling, but he wasn’t looking. He was listening. He cocked his head, held still.
No other sounds came from up there.
Dad brought his head down to stare at the false wall. It appeared to be completely shut. Xander could not tell where it ended and the real wall began. Dad had piled boxes in front of it chest-high. Still, Xander would not have bet on their ability to keep something from coming through.
Dad watched the wall for a long time.
“Dad?” Xander whispered finally.
Slowly, Dad turned his gaze away. He snapped his head back like a pitcher trying to catch a steal, before settling his eyes on Xander. He wasn’t smiling.
Xander said, “What was that?”
Dad shook his head. He said, “That was the last straw. We’re out of here in the morning.”
Xander felt a mixture of relief and regret. Of course, he didn’t want anything to happen to his family. But he knew he would never experience anything like this again.
Dad turned and picked up a box. “Now, give me a hand.” He carried the box to the false wall and added it to the others.
Xander found a safe place for Wuzzy, then started hefting boxes.