MELODY COULDN’T HELP herself. She let out a long scream. “AUGHHHHHH!” She screamed so loudly that she made herself cough.
Wag ran for a corner and stood facing it, his tail between his legs, while Lightfoot climbed all the way up Missy as if she were a tree and tried to burrow under her hat. Polite Lester, who could usually be counted on to remain calm, began to snort in a way that did not sound mannerly at all but was perfectly appropriate for a frightened pig.
Penelope, for once, had absolutely nothing to say.
“Is everyone—” Missy began to ask. But at that moment, thunder crashed again.
The attic was as dark as dark can be. As dark as a pocket, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle would have said.
Missy held her hands in front of her face and couldn’t see them.
“Where is everyone?” asked a tiny voice.
“Veronica?” said Missy. “Is that you? Are you all right? Let’s all try to hold hands.”
“I’m not holding hands with any girls,” announced Linden.
Girls?! thought Tulip. What about pigs? But fortunately she didn’t say that aloud.
What followed was a lot of scrambling around and cries of “Where’s Honoriah?” and “That’s my nose, not my hand!” and “Let go of my hair!” and “AUGHHHHHHH!” (That was Melody again.) But at last everyone was holding hands and hoofs.
“Are we all okay?” asked Missy. She took roll call. She made sure she could feel Lightfoot on her head, Penelope on her shoulder, Wag’s rump in the corner, and Lester’s hoof in her left hand. Then she called out, “House? Are you okay, too?”
The house replied by opening and closing the door at the top of the stairs.
“Good,” said Missy in her calmest voice. “This is a big storm, but we’re all together and we’re all fine. We’ll just have to wait it out.”
“We could pretend we’re pioneers without electricity,” suggested Petulance in a whisper.
“And we’ve been put in a dungeon,” said Veronica.
“Who would put pioneers in a dungeon?” asked Rusty.
CRASH.
This time the clap of thunder was followed by a crash of a different kind. Missy heard something heavy fall above her. She heard wood splinter and glass break, and she knew that something very bad had happened.
She took roll call again. Four animals and seven children were accounted for.
“House?” said Missy. “House?” She paused. “Are you all right?”
She waited for the door to open or the stairs to creak, but there was nothing.
* * *
“I think the storm is letting up,” said Rusty after a while. “It isn’t raining so hard.”
“The thunder is going away,” said Melody, sounding relieved but not letting go of the hands she was holding, even though Rusty was trying to shake her loose.
Five minutes later, Missy looked up the stairs and saw a beam of light coming from the kitchen. “The electricity is back on,” she said. “I think it’s safe to leave the basement. But be careful.”
Every single child in the basement ignored Missy’s warning and went charging up the stairs like a bull. Tulip ran into Honoriah, and Linden tripped over Wag. They crowded into the kitchen and peered out the window.
“Ooh, look! Everything’s all blown around,” said Veronica with great excitement.
“The trash can is lying on its side,” Rusty reported. “There’s garbage all over the place.”
“The farmyard looks like a lake,” said Petulance. (That was a huge exaggeration.)
Missy picked up her phone. “Call your parents,” she instructed the children. “Let them know you’re okay.”
“Trouble!” squawked Penelope from the front of the upside-down house. “Trouble!”
Missy hurried through the kitchen and the hallway and opened the door to the porch. She looked out into the yard, which was now dotted with holes full of muddy water. The golf ball floated in one of them.
Missy’s gaze traveled to the right, and she let out a sigh.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Poor House. Poor, poor House.”
The very tall oak tree, the one Veronica had climbed earlier, had blown over, roots and all, and was leaning at an angle. Missy’s gaze followed the trunk
up,
up,
up
to the top of the tree.
It had smashed through the upside-down house. The windows of the attic (or the basement, or the basement-attic) were shattered, and Missy saw glass glinting on the ground below. The roof and one of the third-story walls had splintered and caved in. Below, on the second floor, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s bedroom window was broken and another part of the wall had been smashed in.
“Poor House,” Missy said again, and tutted just like her great-aunt would have done.
But then she straightened her back, told herself to buck up, and returned to the kitchen. “Make sure you keep your shoes on,” she said to the children. “There’s broken glass outside. I’ll wait with you until your parents pick you up.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Missy stood alone in the living room of the upside-down house. She stared at her phone for a moment and finally called Harold Spectacle, the owner of A to Z Books on Juniper Street. The Harold who might or might not be her boyfriend.
“Harold,” she said, “um, I was wondering. How did you fare in the storm?” Like most people who are good at helping others, Missy was not very good at requesting help for herself. She asked Harold two questions about the store and one about his general health before she managed to say, “A tree fell through my house. Do you think you could come over?” She did not say that she was nervous and needed moral support, even though she was and she did.
Of course, Harold said he would be there as soon as he could leave the store.
“Thank you,” said Missy. Then she punched in the number of Aaron’s Ace Repairs, which was the first home repair company in the Little Spring Valley phone directory.
“I won’t be able to come myself,” said Aaron, “since, as you can imagine, the storm caused a lot of damage and everyone is calling, but I’ll send someone to your house right away. Where are you located?” Missy gave him the address and he said, “I guess you won’t be hard to find, what with a tree through your roof.”
“Also,” said Missy, “the house is upside down.”
She heard raucous laughter on the other end of the line as they hung up.
Harold arrived before the repairperson did. He came running along the street in his red velvet tuxedo, one hand clapped to his top hat in order to keep it in place. Missy realized she had never seen Harold run before. In his free hand, he was carrying the cane he didn’t actually need, and he brandished it like a hockey stick, shoving fallen branches and bits of trash out of his way.
“Missy!” he called as he approached the walk to the upside-down house. “Are you really all right?”
“Right as rain,” she replied. “But I’m afraid House isn’t up to snuff.”
“Deary me.” Harold picked his way along the muddy path as fast as he could. “That was quite a storm, wasn’t it? Entirely unexpected. I didn’t hear anything about it on the weather this morning.” He stopped talking when he saw Missy’s face. “You don’t look right as rain,” he said.
“I’m just a little worried about poor House. I haven’t been upstairs yet.” Missy didn’t want to admit that she was afraid of what she might see there.
“Are the animals okay?”
“Mostly. Lightfoot is hiding under the kitchen table, Wag is hiding under my bed, and Lester is lying on the couch with a cloth over his eyes. They didn’t like the thunder. Penelope is fine, though. She loves drama.” Missy paused. “I called Aaron’s Ace Repairs. Someone should be here soon.”
Missy and Harold walked around the yard, picking up branches and broken shingles and soggy bits of paper and stuffing them in a garbage bag.
“Hey!” exclaimed Harold. “I found a golf ball.”
At that moment, Missy heard a loud honk and turned to see a truck parking in the street. The lettering on the side read: AARON’S ACE REPAIRS. “Oh, good,” she said. “He’s here.”
But the person who climbed out of the truck was a she, not a he. Every piece of her clothing was embroidered with the words AARON’S ACE REPAIRS—her cap, her overalls, the sleeve of her shirt.
“Missy!” she cried. “Is that really you?”
Missy stared at the woman. “I, um—”
“Serena Clutter. I used to see you here when we were little, remember? We played together when you were visiting your great-aunt?”
And suddenly Missy did remember Serena. She also remembered secretly testing out a potion on Serena when she was first learning magic and briefly turning Serena into an enormous pigeon, which she sincerely hoped Serena had forgotten about.
“Hello!” Missy exclaimed nervously.
“In town for a visit?” asked Serena. She opened the back of the truck and hauled out a large tool kit.
“Actually, I’m living here now. My great-aunt is away for a while.”
“The pirates?”
“Yup.”
Serena stood for a moment and gazed up at the house. “Wow,” she said. “That’s a shame.”
“Do you think you can repair it?” asked Harold.
“Well … yes. Let me take a look around. There’s quite a bit of damage.”
“Uh-oh,” said Missy, glancing at Harold.
“But I’m sure it can be fixed.”
Missy led Serena into the upside-down house and up to the second floor. Harold followed them.
“This is my great-aunt’s room,” said Missy. She stood firmly in the doorway and made herself look in. She held her chin high. “Oh,” she said after a moment. Glass and leaves and debris covered every surface of the room. The window and wall had crumbled over the bed.
“Deary me,” muttered Harold again.
Missy looked at Serena and raised her eyebrows.
“Nothing that can’t be repaired,” said Serena after a moment. “But it will take some time.”
“I don’t want the animals going in there,” said Missy. She closed the door and led Serena to the end of the hall, next to her own bedroom. “The attic is just up these stairs,” she said. She reached for the doorknob, then jerked her hand back. “Ow!” she cried.
“What’s the matter?” asked Serena. “Is it stuck? Here, let me try.”
“No, don’t!” Missy blew on her hand. The knob had felt like a lump of burning coal. She turned to the door and said soothingly, “House, Serena is here to help you. She needs to go upstairs so she can look at the rest of the damage.” Then she turned back to Serena and Harold. “House is a bit upset,” she whispered.
Serena nodded. “I remember House’s moods.”
The house rumbled, then shook the hallway like someone flapping a rug into place. Missy, Harold, and Serena lost their balance and fell on the floor in a heap.
“Hey!” exclaimed Serena.
“House doesn’t like being talked about,” Missy explained. Then she added in a louder voice, “But that’s no excuse for this behavior, House. How is Serena going to help you if you won’t let us see what needs to be fixed? Now, please—good manners.”
Missy reached for the doorknob again. It was cool. “Thank you,” she said. She turned the knob and led the way to the attic.
“Oh my,” said Harold when he and Missy and Serena were standing at the top of the stairs.
A voice behind them screeched, “Chaos! Chaos!”
Missy ignored Penelope, who had followed them and was now perched on Harold’s hat. She gazed around the attic and let out a large and very loud sigh. The attic, which was much more attic-y than basement-y (because Mr. Piggle-Wiggle had luckily realized that a third floor made of stone would have created an unfortunately top-heavy house) was a shambles. The oak tree had smashed through the roof, a window, and a large section of wall. Storage boxes and shelves and cabinets had been smashed, too, and scattered everywhere were those odd things that somehow always wind up in attics—lamps that won’t light anymore, cups without saucers, coats with holes in them, and boots and books and blankets. Just then, because sometimes when you think things can’t possibly get any worse, they do anyway, rain began to fall again, and it spattered through the hole and widened the puddles on the floor.
“Be careful where you step,” said Harold. “I’m not sure the floorboards are going to hold up.”
Missy sank down onto a damp carton. “Are you sure you can repair … this?” she said to Serena, waving her hands to indicate all that needed to be done.
Serena placed her hands on her hips. She walked to the broken window and leaned out, looking at the wall below. Then she turned around and surveyed the attic again. “I am,” she said at last. “But it’s going to be a big job.”
“When can you start?”
“I’ll have to check with Aaron, but I think we can start on Monday. I’ll come back with a crew.”
“Hear that, House?” said Missy.
The house responded by sending a blast of cold air through the hole in the roof. Papers and twigs coiled themselves into a cyclone.
“Pardon me for saying so, but that wasn’t very helpful,” said Serena, frowning, as the mess settled. “Is House going to let us make our repairs?” She was prying up boards and peering behind the plaster on the walls. Before Missy could answer her, Serena went on. “This is going to be hard enough with all the backward wiring. And upside-down windows. And upside-down doorways. And—” She paused and glanced at the ceiling. “Was that trunk floating up there before?”
“We’ll make it work,” Missy assured her. “I’ll have a talk with House.”
“In the meantime,” said Serena, “I’ll cover the hole with a tarp.”
* * *
On Sunday, Missy sat at the dining room table with a large piece of cardboard and several fat markers. This was the same dining table at which visiting children made macaroni sculptures and Popsicle-stick boxes and learned how to knit. Missy spread newspaper over the table and set to work. She lettered a sign that read: CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.
As she worked, the table and chairs slowly rose toward the ceiling. Missy waved at Wag and Lightfoot below and then called cheerfully, “House, could you please lower me?” The table wobbled downward and settled onto the rug. Missy stood up from her chair as if she were getting off of a ride at an amusement park. She carried the sign outside and nailed it to the railings of the porch.
When she turned around, she saw Beaufort Crumpet (known for his love of all things sugary), Georgie Pepperpot, Samantha Tickle (now cured of her case of constantly needing “just one more minute”), Tulip, and Veronica standing in a mournful row on the sidewalk. They were staring at the sign.
“You can’t close the upside-down house!” exclaimed Georgie.
“It’s against the law,” called Veronica.
“It is not against the law,” replied Missy.
“It is, and I’m going to call the police.”
“How long is it closed for?” asked Samantha, who was older than Veronica and much more practical.
“Until enough repairs have been made so that it’s safe for you to play here again.”
Veronica slumped tragically to the sidewalk and lowered her head into her lap. “That could be forever.”
“The upside-down house has never been closed before,” said Beaufort, even though he wasn’t sure this was true.
“Never,” said Veronica from the depths of her lap.
“I’m sorry,” said Missy. “What has to be, has to be.”
* * *
On Monday morning at eight o’clock on the dot, two trucks from Aaron’s Ace Repairs pulled up in front of the upside-down house. Serena and a team of workers wearing identical blue caps and overalls and shirts climbed out of the trucks.
Missy waved to them from behind the sign on the porch.
One of the workers stood on the lawn, looked at the house, and scratched her head. “Wow,” she said. “Upside down.”
“I told you,” whispered one of the other workers.
The crew, carrying toolboxes and ladders and heavy electrical things that Missy couldn’t identify, approached the porch. They looked at the upside-down door.
“Come in,” said Missy gallantly, sweeping the door open with the lower of the two knobs placed there years ago by Mr. Piggle-Wiggle.
Serena’s crew entered so cautiously that Penelope, who was watching from a chandelier on the floor of the living room, called out, “Step it up!”
“Coffee?” asked Missy as Lester appeared in the hallway with a tray.
One member of the crew looked at Lester, cried, “Pig!” in the same way most people would cry “Snake!” and dropped a wrench on his foot. Then he fled up the stairs before Serena even had time to say, “It’s just up those stairs.”
“I think we’ll have the coffee later,” Missy told Lester, and he nodded and retreated to the kitchen.
It was quite a while before all the equipment had been hauled to the attic, where the repair work was to begin, and Serena had shown her crew the backward wiring and wrong-side-up windows and explained about the floor versus the ceiling.
Pierpont Demitasse, the repairman who had cried “Pig!” earlier, eyed a carton that was making its way slowly upward to a point just above his head.
“Oh, yes,” Serena said. “Sometimes things float.”
“But House is going to try to keep that to a minimum,” added Missy loudly.
* * *
And so the work began. Serena and her crew were careful and respectful. They sawed up the tree and hauled away the fat trunk and all the limbs. They began fixing the roof and the wall.
The crew grew used to feeling the floor rock beneath them or finding that the doorway to the attic had shrunk to the size and shape of a mouse hole. They accepted cups of coffee from the pig. Everyone felt at home in the upside-down house except for Pierpont Demitasse, who excused himself at lunchtime on the first day of work and never came back.
On Friday afternoon of that week, Serena handed Missy a piece of paper. “This is Aaron’s estimate,” she said. “He thinks the work will take several more weeks.”
“Okay,” said Missy.
“We’ll be back Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp.”
Missy waved good-bye to Serena. Then she sat at the kitchen table and looked at the paper in her hands.
She gasped.
Wag came to sit at her feet, and he tipped his tail uncertainly. Lester approached, frowning. Missy handed him the estimate. Lester’s eyes widened.
“I know,” said Missy. “After I pay this, I’ll barely have any money left. And this is just an estimate. What if the work takes longer?”
Lester pointed upstairs with one manicured hoof.
Missy nodded. “Yes. The silver key in the attic. I wish I knew what Auntie meant. Do you know anything about a silver key?”
Lester shook his head.
Missy remembered a time long ago when she was a very little girl and her great-aunt had needed money herself. There hadn’t been a bit of food in the cupboards nor a penny in her pockets. But a careful search of House had revealed a great treasure left behind by Mr. Piggle-Wiggle for his beloved wife. It should have been enough to last forever, but of course very few things actually do last forever.
“I suppose I’ll just have to be as frugal as I can for as long as I can,” said Missy finally.
Penelope flapped into the kitchen. “Gold doubloons!” she squawked.
“No,” murmured Missy. “Sell Uncle’s doubloons? Never.”
“Never say never,” Penelope croaked darkly.