“Is it a rocket ship?” asked Zack.
“No.”
“Are you studying a horrible virus that turns your fingernails to jelly?” asked Janice.
“No. Ew.”
“Are there big, fluffy bears inside?” asked Alexa.
“No!” Aunt Gladys waved her hands in front of her face as if to swat away all the pesky questions. “Stop asking! Forget the room! You didn’t see it. It’s not here. Look away.” Refusing to entertain any further questions, Aunt Gladys made to storm away but stopped as Sydney raced into the hallway (having gotten lost trying to follow Alexa’s scream) and announced to everyone she’d found piles of doors upstairs. This sent Aunt Gladys into another panic attack, which didn’t subside until Zack promised her that none of the kids would go upstairs and touch them.
She then made him also promise they would all clean their bowls and spoons after eating their Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings, that they’d use a potty every time they had to go, and that they wouldn’t try to wear any of her clothes.
This last request struck Zack as a bit unnecessary.
The final thing she made him promise (and he could feel Janice glaring at him every time Aunt Gladys assumed Zack, and not she, spoke for the group) was the strangest request of all.
“You will go to school,” she said. “Not now. Soon. Not tomorrow. There’s paperwork. I’m not good at paperwork. Not your problem. You go to school, right? Of course. Learning is good.”
She smiled.
“What about school?” asked Zack, getting used to his aunt’s scatterbrained tendencies.
“What? Oh! Yes. School. You will go. And when you do”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, forcing all four kids to lean in—“do not open any doors.”
The children all looked at one another, hoping somebody else understood what she was talking about. None of them did.
“But, Aunt Gladys,” began Zack, treading lightly. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she replied.
The remainder of the day was moderately uneventful, or at least as uneventful as a crazy afternoon spent in a crazy house with a crazy aunt could be. The children each claimed their rooms: Zack on the first floor, Alexa the room right next to his, and Janice one a few rooms down from theirs. Sydney chose a door-filled room on the third floor, which sent Aunt Gladys into a serious tizzy until Zack offered to help Aunt Gladys move some of her precious doors into another room. The rest they covered with large, flowery bedsheets.
They unrolled sleeping bags (Aunt Gladys had promised to purchase actual beds sometime soon) and laid their few, meager possessions out on the floors of their rooms. For dinner, they joined their aunt for a bowl of Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings (Aunt Gladys promised to purchase non–Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings food sometime soon, and Zack quickly offered to join her on her shopping excursion) and a glass of milk. Then Aunt Gladys, fretting about forgetting something important, mysteriously disappeared once again behind the mysterious titanium door into the mysterious central room with instructions not to be disturbed. The children were left to fend for themselves for the evening.
There was little to do in this oddly circular house. There were no televisions, no computers, no board games, no decks of cards, no pencils, no pens, no chalk, no crayons, no paper. Nor were there balls of any kind to bounce, throw, roll, fling, or toss. There also, oddly and ominously enough, seemed to be no way out of the house. The drawbridge was shut and locked tight, and the children could find no other doors. They considered letting themselves out through a window, but the yawning chasm of the moat below snuffed that idea right out. So they took to wandering about, each in their own direction.
Zack found himself absently pacing around the first floor. He considered heading for the kitchen to whip something up, because that always made him feel better, but he didn’t think there was a whole lot he’d be able to do when his only ingredients were milk and Honey Nut Oat Blast Ring-a-Dings. So he wound up thinking about their father instead. Zach wondered when he’d wake up. (He knew their father would wake up eventually, because the alternative was simply unthinkable.) He wished his father were with him now. He could use a dose of the old man’s parental wisdom—even though his dad often looked to be still figuring things out himself. Still, just to hear his voice would be comforting. Of course, if he were here, there’d be no need to be at Aunt Gladys’s in the first place.
After a quick look in both directions to ensure he was alone, Zack slumped to the floor and placed his head in his hands. He allowed his facade of self-control to fall away, letting the grief and fear and insecurity and anger wash over him like a scalding shower.
“Why?” he whispered imploringly to the universe. “Why?”
The universe did not answer.
But someone else did.
“Hello? I am here.”
Zack jumped to his feet and spun around, but no one was there. His eyes searched every nook and cranny of the room—discovering he’d plopped down next to the controls for the drawbridge—yet came up empty.
Great. I’m hearing voices, he thought.
“Hello, please? Please, hello?”
He spun around a second time. “Who’s there?” he called out.
“Hello, Miss Gladys? Is Dimitri. Hello?”
The voice was coming from the drawbridge/wall contraption. Zack nervously inched forward, peering into the surprising blackness that hovered menacingly in front of the wall. He didn’t think anybody was standing there in the shadows….
“Miss Gladys?” came the voice yet again. “Is Dimitri. Hello?”
And he was right. Reaching the wall, he saw a black plastic walkie-talkie lying atop a series of gears that Zack figured must have something to do with raising and lowering the drawbridge.
He picked up the walkie-talkie gingerly, as if it might suddenly sprout fangs and bite him.
“Miss Gladys, is Dimitri,” continued Dimitri, who struck Zack as a very persistent man. “Hello? Miss Gladys?”
Not sure what else to do, Zack pressed the Talk button.
“Hello?” he said.
A startled yelp burst through the device. A moment later, Dimitri collected himself and his voice came through again. “Miss Gladys? Your voice funny. Is bad time?”
“No,” replied Zack quickly for fear of losing the man. “I’m not Aunt Gladys. I’m Zack. Her nephew.”
“Ooooooooooookay,” said a very confused Dimitri. “Is Miss Gladys there? I talk to Miss Gladys now.”
“Actually, she’s…” Zack stopped, not sure how much to tell the strange voice. “She’s not available.”
“Ooooooooooookay,” repeated Dimitri. “I drop off. You open, yes?”
“Open…You mean lower the drawbridge? Are you outside?”
“Yes. Outside. Hello! See, I wave!”
Zack, of course, could not see Dimitri wave, as there were no windows in the room. He chose to take the man’s word. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to open this thing. Can you just leave your…whatever it is…out there?”
“No. Is fresh. Will go bad. Open, please.”
Fresh? thought Zack. She gets her groceries delivered? Does cereal go bad?
“You open?” continued Dimitri. “I in rush. Pizza get cold.”
Pizza! Now Zack was motivated. “Yeah, hold on.” He quickly studied the drawbridge mechanism. Were those two gears connected? What would happen if he pulled that lever?
He pulled the lever.
Nothing. “Huh.”
“You have trouble? Door tricky. Yes. Is lever,” offered Dimitri. “Pull lever.”
Which one? Zack ran his fingers along a series of switches, levers, and pulleys, utterly confused.
“Have you pulled?” asked Dimitri. “I think no, as door closed. Maybe try—”
He didn’t get the chance to suggest anything, because Zack started pulling levers at random and got lucky.
Dimitri did not get lucky. He got squashed.
With a sickening crunch, the drawbridge fell open, raising a blinding cloud of dust that billowed out in all directions, including into Zack’s face. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand while peering through almost-closed eyes at the carnage he had just unleashed.
“Hello?” he called out after a moment. “Dimitri?”
As the safari-colored fog lifted, Zack made out the sprightly shape of a tall, burly man hopping on one foot while cradling the other in his hands. After a moment, words drifted their way to Zack’s ears to go along with the chaotic movement.
“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Ow!”
Cringing, Zack stepped onto the drawbridge and called out to the suffering individual. “Are you all right?” Granted, it wasn’t the most intelligent question he could have asked, but in his defense, he’d just dropped a drawbridge onto a complete stranger, which can be disorienting.
“Hello!” Dimitri let go of his injured foot with one hand long enough to wave. “Mr. Zack, yes? No. Not all right. Much pain. Very much pain.” He grabbed his foot and continued hopping.
“I’m sorry!” called Zack. “I didn’t mean to club you with the drawbridge!”
“Is okay,” assured Dimitri without bothering to look up. “Is not first time. Give me moment, yes? Then we unload.”
Unload? wondered Zack. He lifted his gaze past the flamingo-like Dimitri to a large yellow moving van parked nearby. The back doors of the van yawned open, revealing dozens of wooden doors—each one aged, worn, dusty, and looking as if it should be barring entrance to an ancient tomb of evil.
Are you kidding me? Zack asked himself. More doors?
Looks like it, he answered himself.
“Dimitri! I forgot!” Aunt Gladys bounded her way onto the drawbridge, appearing, as far as Zack was concerned, out of nowhere. “I knew I forgot! But forgot what? But of course! Dimitri!”
“Miss Gladys.” Zack couldn’t help noticing a change in the injured man’s tone as he addressed the lady of the house. “Today is day. I drop.”
“Of course!” Aunt Gladys brushed past Zack like he wasn’t even there. “No trouble?”
“No trouble.” Dimitri set his foot down gingerly. “Is good.”
“You’re hurt. The drawbridge again?”
“My fault. No worry.”
“And the doors?”
“The best!”
“But the owners—”
“Every one.”
Aunt Gladys drifted to the van in a dreamy glide. “So fresh,” she commented, reaching a gloved hand toward the pile. “Vibrant. Alive.”
“Maybe one—” Dimitri began.
“We can hope,” Aunt Gladys finished.
“You want I—?”
“If it’s not—”
“Is none. Third?”
“Second. Third to the left.”
“You make progress?” Dimitri’s eyes sparkled. “Is wonderful!”
Zack couldn’t be sure, but he thought Aunt Gladys might have actually blushed. “I was in a groove.”
Zack’s head spun trying to follow the scattered, half-formed conversation. He was sure it meant something to the two of them, but from where he was standing, it was pure gibberish. “Progress with what, Aunt Gladys?” he asked. “Why do you have all these doors?”
Aunt Gladys turned around and jumped back, startled to see Zack standing there. “Oh! Zelda! I didn’t see—no, not Zelda. You’re a boy. Zeke? Zanzibar? It starts with a Z.”
“Zack,” he offered with a patient sigh.
“No, that’s not it.” She frowned. “It’ll come to me.” She shook her head clear and smiled at him.
After a moment of awkward silence, Zack asked again, “Your progress? The doors?”
“Oh! Yes!” She lit up, then quickly shook her head. “No, definitely not. It would be…” She turned to Dimitri. “You understand?”
“Perfectly, Miss Gladys,” he replied.
“Understand what?” asked Zack.
But when Aunt Gladys turned back, she was all business. “Go inside. Stay out of Dimitri’s way. He won’t be long.”
She stared at him with a warm-but-firm gaze, waiting.
“What’s going on, Aunt Gladys?” he tried one last time.
She took a breath as if to respond, but then thought better of it and simply shook her head.
“Yes. Not long,” piped a cheery Dimitri, hauling the first door out of the back of the van. “Must hurry. Pizza get cold.”