When the brilliant burst of light had faded, the three friends found themselves stepping out of a lamppost and onto a dark city street corner. A soft rain created a fog across the pavement, and the sky was a deep shade of pink as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. In the distance, Horace could see a pair of billowing smokestacks, and the strong smell of diesel was in the air.
“Look at that!” Milton shouted as a trolley car came rushing up the street alongside them. Passengers were hanging off the back, and a man tipped his hat as the car went by.
“Where are we?” asked Anna. “New York City?”
“I have no idea,” answered Horace, “but I think we might have just discovered another portal.”
“Hey, more importantly, where’d my sneakers go? Those shoes weren’t cheap!” Milton said in shock, looking at his feet and the worn canvas shoes now on them. Horace noticed his outfit had also changed. He touched his head. He was now wearing a short-brimmed cap, the kind he’d seen newsboys wear in old black-and-white movies. A cotton button-down shirt was in place of his T-shirt, and a pair of three-quarters’-length wool pants had replaced his jeans.
“You guys shouldn’t complain,” Anna said. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt. “I can barely move in this thing.”
Horace’s eye caught the reflection from the street sign above their heads and the name Farnsworth.
“I don’t know of any Farnsworth streets in Niles,” noted Milton.
“Yeah, this isn’t Niles,” agreed Horace. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have trolley cars.” He looked down the street at the row of brick buildings. “If this portal works like the last one, Mr. Franken won’t even know we are gone by the time he returns to the carriage house. Remember, time moves a lot faster on this side. Let’s check it out. Maybe there is someone nearby who can tell us where we are.”
The street was fairly nondescript. There was a trash can that stood on the corner next to the lamppost. A few discarded newspapers floated across the pavement, and a moldy half-eaten sandwich was smashed against the sidewalk. Two men dressed in tight-waisted jackets and skinny black trousers walked past the kids. Both wore dark hats pulled low over their eyes. When Milton started to ask them a question, neither paused nor said a word, only acknowledging the three kids with side-glances.
Horace was starting to wonder not just where they’d arrived, but when. Something about these men felt unsafe, and the idea of asking around suddenly seemed dangerous. The last thing he wanted to do was draw unwanted attention to them.
The kids walked up and down the block three times before they found a clue. Horace turned to see Anna cross the street to go stand at the door of a brick building. The building was three stories tall, slightly larger than its surrounding neighbors. She waved for Milton and Horace to come closer.
The two boys ran across the street. “What is it?”
She was pointing up to the glass symbol set back in the center of the thick wooden door.
Horace’s eyes opened wide. “It’s the symbol of the Keepers.”
“Down here, Horace,” Milton added. The lock on the thick door was unmistakable. It was in the shape of a scarab beetle.
“I think someone’s up there,” said Anna, gazing at the second-floor window.
A shadow moved across a dim yellow light.
“We’ve got to get inside,” Horace said in a determined voice. “This has to be connected to the beetle.”
There was the distant sound of sirens, and now three men appeared under the lamppost. Anna and Milton were also feeling unnerved by their new surroundings.
“This place is sketchy,” noted Milton. “Maybe we should speed things up.”
Horace knew they needed to get off the street. Two of the men appeared to be the same guys who’d passed them earlier, and a third, much larger figure had joined them.
“If our clothes are any indication, I think we might be back in the 1920s. And that was the time of Prohibition and bootleggers,” explained Anna.
“You mean mobsters?” asked Milton.
Anna nodded as the men started walking toward them.
Horace turned back toward the door and pulled out his beetle, blocking the glow of its light from view. He looked at the door lock and then again at the beetle in his hand. He paused for a second and then slipped the beetle into the lock. With a gentle twist of the knob, the door opened, and the three of them stared into the shadowy entryway of the building.
Horace could make out paint cans, a cotton canvas, and several ladders lining the dark entrance. They stepped over them as carefully as they could, tiptoeing inside. There on the left side of the hallway was a set of wooden stairs.
“Bring the beetle over here so I can read this in the dark,” Anna whispered.
On a wooden table that looked to be a reception desk was a plaque that read THE SCARAB CLUB—FOUNDED IN 1907. There was a series of black-and-white portraits above the desk. Under the frames was a separate plaque of names of what appeared to be past presidents and the dates they served.
“Look,” said Milton, pointing up. Above them, illuminated by the light of the beetle, written in white chalk and running along the beams supporting the ceiling were at least two dozen more names. “There’s your name, Horace,” noted Milton, indicating directly above them.
Horace could see his name written diagonally across one of the beams, and next to it was the name John.
“This is really strange, Horace. Did your grandfather ever mention anything about a Scarab Club?” Anna asked.
Horace shook his head.
“And we still don’t know when or where we are,” added Milton.
Horace wasn’t certain, but he had an idea now. The names on the ceiling seemed to jar his memory. “You guys, some of these names look like the same people I saw at the museum in the third-floor exhibit.” He was about to say more, when they heard a loud bang above their heads.
The kids looked at one another in alarm. “Maybe coming inside was a mistake,” whispered Anna.
Bang! Bang! More sounds could be heard coming from the second floor.
“Let’s get out of here,” exclaimed Milton. But when they looked back at the open door, three shadowy figures could be seen on the street in front of the building.
Horace slammed the door closed and turned back to his friends. “First the Scarab car, then a portal, and now this, the Scarab Club. We are definitely on to something. We have to see what’s up there.” He grabbed the wooden banister. “Just give me a minute. You two can stay here. I’m only going to take a quick look and then I’ll come right back.”
“I’ve heard that before,” responded Anna nervously. “I’m coming with you.” She quickly lined up behind Horace as he began his ascent up the wooden stairs.
“I guess I’m coming too. I mean, what else am I going to do—try to make friends with those guys out on the street?” Milton added sarcastically.
Soon the three kids were quietly climbing up to the second floor.
Horace stopped on the landing. By the soft glow of the beetle, they could see trinkets and antique vases resting on a shelf along the wall. And mounted above those was an antique knife. It was roughly the size of an envelope opener, but its handle was etched with intricate designs.
Milton reached over and grabbed the knife off the two hooks holding it. “Just in case,” he whispered.
Horace nodded, but Anna didn’t seem pleased with the idea of Milton wielding a weapon. “You’re more likely to hurt yourself with that thing than someone else. Be careful,” she whispered back.
More banging noises rang out from the second floor, and the kids stopped halfway up the second set of steps. Anything or anyone could be up there, Horace thought. Maybe we should have returned to the portal.
But then it grew silent, and one by one they continued their ascent. It reminded Horace of the times when he’d tried to sneak into his sisters’ bedroom. He’d learned from those excursions that the trick was to keep as little weight on his heels as possible. At least back in Niles the worst thing that awaited him was a disgruntled sibling; but here who knew what was upstairs?
They silently climbed another ten steps before reaching the second-floor landing. A large doorway was directly across from the landing. The door was open slightly, and Horace could feel a warm breeze slipping out into the hall. “Wait here,” he whispered to Anna and Milton.
Horace walked across to the door and, closing his right eye, peered in through the opening with his left eye. He thought he could make out the outline of a table and the glow of a fireplace beyond it, the source of the warm air.
In a matter of moments, he decided it was worth the risk and slipped his fingers along the edge of the wooden doorframe to gently pull it open even more. He could now make out a mural on the opposite wall above the fireplace. A half dozen glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room. Craning his neck, Horace could see names written on these ceiling beams too. He desperately wanted to get a better look at the names. If he wasn’t mistaken, one of them looked to be his grandfather’s name, Flinders Peabody.
He leaned in even closer, straining to get a better view. Suddenly the door burst open, and a hand reached out, yanking him into the room. Horace was about to let out a scream when he saw the face of the person holding him. He could not believe his eyes.
“Herman!”