Janice watched Zack follow Sydney into the totally creepy wall of white, feeling as if she’d just been punched in the gut. Where were they? Were they dead? She had led them into this room, made this happen—it was all her fault. What had she been thinking?

“Where are they?” asked a cowed Alexa, shuffling up to her big sister.

“I…I…” Words refused to come. Thoughts refused to come. She could only stand and stare through squinting eyes at the impossible ocean of stark white light pouring out the door.

“Janny? Make them come back,” pleaded Alexa.

Janice shook her head, trying to come to grips with what had just happened. She had seen Sydney and Zack go through the door. They were gone. She didn’t want that to be possible. She couldn’t handle a world where that was possible.

“Janny?” Alexa’s voice begged Janice for comfort.

But Janice had none to give.

Suddenly, Sydney stepped back out of the light, eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve got to see this!” She hopped right back through the open door before Janice or Alexa could blink.

“Did you—?” started Janice anxiously.

“Was that—?” started Alexa excitedly at the same time.

Heart in her throat, Janice allowed her little sister to grab her hand and pull her through the door.

It was unlike any doorway Janice had ever experienced.

As she passed through, her skin got all tingly, the hairs on her arms stood straight up, her head felt fuzzy, and her vision blurred for the briefest of moments. Then she was through and she stopped in her tracks, flabbergasted at what she saw.

They were standing in a large room decorated in the rococo style of the eighteenth century with big chandeliers, thick rugs, mirrors on the walls, and furniture with lots of curly gold knobs. The walls were also covered with impressive portraits of both men and women in fancy ruffles between floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with old-looking books. The place struck Janice as some sort of stuffy, lived-in museum.

“Whoa,” said Alexa.

“I know, right?” said Sydney. “How awesome is this?”

Janice had to admit it was pretty awesome. Stepping farther into the room, she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. It wasn’t the scaffold-filled room in Aunt Gladys’s house, that was for sure. But they couldn’t really be here, wherever here was. Could they?

“Why’s everything look all old?” asked Alexa.

Janice was about to explain how the room was obviously made up in a style from long past, when she realized her sister wasn’t talking about the furniture. Everything in the room had a yellowish hue to it, like she was looking through a filter. It was creepy with a capital C.

“All right,” she said. “We went through the door. Can we go back now?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Sydney, putting her hands on her hips. “We step through a magic door into this impossible world and you want to turn tail and run home?”

“ ‘Magic door’! ‘Impossible world’!” emphasized Janice. “Aunt Gladys warned us to keep out of her room, and now we know why!”

“This was your idea,” reminded Zack.

“And it was a bad one! Why did you listen to me?”

“You’re afraid,” accused Sydney.

“You bet I am! And you should be, too!” Janice turned and grabbed the handle of the door they’d just gone through—a door she didn’t remember closing. “Tomorrow morning we can corner Aunt Gladys and make her tell us what’s going on, but right now we need to—”

She pulled the door open and stopped.

Instead of a bright white light or tons of scaffolding, the door opened into an even larger room. Equally ornate, equally old, equally yellowish.

The biggest difference between the two rooms was the butler currently setting a tea tray down on a side table next to a very plush sofa.

Janice gasped. Her brother and sisters gasped. The butler looked up, saw the children, and gasped, dropping his tray. The tea set balanced on the tray did not gasp, choosing instead to crash to the ground and shatter into tiny shards of fine china.

“Who are you?” asked Janice with what she realized was most likely a remarkable amount of stupidity.

“Redcoats!” screamed the butler, turning and running out of the room. “Redcoats in the parlor!” He waved his hands in the air as he ran, making him look like a poorly drawn cartoon character.

Sydney quickly jumped forward and slammed the door closed.

“What are you doing?” asked Janice.

She held up her still-gloved hands. “You need to open it with these, dummy.” She grabbed the handle and yanked it open, only to find the exact same room as before—minus the butler, who they could still hear yelling “Redcoats!” off in the distance.

“Huh,” muttered Sydney.

“I don’t understand,” said Alexa. “Where’s Aunt Gladys’s house?”

“I told you guys this was a bad idea,” blurted Zack. “Are you happy now, Janice?”

Janice did not respond. Point of fact, Janice was not happy and had not been happy since she had seen the impossible blue energy whipping about the door on the platform in the first place. However, the reason Janice did not respond to her brother’s question was because something the butler had said had tickled a memory, and she was very carefully scrunching her eyes together in a determined effort to draw it out. “Redcoats,” she mumbled. “Redcoats.”

“What did he mean by that?” asked Sydney. “We’re not wearing any coats.”

Janice knew that phrase. She’d heard it recently. Where? Back at school? Why would she remember anything from school? It referred to someone, or a group of someones. What had she been studying back at school? Not math. Not science. Not English. Social studies. That was it. Something in social studies. They’d been reading about the American Revolution—

Her eyes went wide.

“The British!” she cried.

“He didn’t sound British,” said Zack.

Janice opened her mouth to explain that redcoats was what American soldiers had called the British during the American Revolution, when three angry-looking men ran into the opposite room and aimed three angry-looking muskets at the children.

“Hands up, British spies!” yelled the most angry-looking of the men.

Alexa screamed and ran from the door.

“Stop!” yelled the soldier.

“Go!” yelled Zack, slamming the door closed as all four Rothbaum children fled into the hallway.

Zack quickly looked both ways down the corridor. To the right, the hallway darkened before turning a corner, while light poured in from the left. “This way!” he yelled, taking a few steps to the right.

“No!” shouted Janice, wary of the darkness. “This way!” She grabbed Alexa’s hand and ran to the left. Sydney quickly followed, leaving a frustrated Zack to bring up the rear. In moments, the siblings found themselves atop a grand, sweeping staircase leading down into a massive, two-story entrance hall. Sunlight blazed in through multiple floor-to-ceiling windows, shining off the ends of the muskets clutched by two more soldiers hurrying up the stairs toward them.

“Halt, you redcoats!” shouted one of the soldiers.

“Why do they think we’re British?” asked Sydney.

Janice had no idea, but before she could admit this, the children heard the sound of their pursuers bursting through the door behind them, cutting off their escape.

Oh no, thought Janice. We’re trapped! What was I thinking, trying to lead?

“What do we do, Janny?” asked an increasingly frightened Alexa. “Janny?”

“We…um…I…” sputtered Janice, her mind shutting down in the face of overwhelming responsibility.

“Are you halting?” asked the soldier. “That would be very helpful indeed.”

Frozen with indecision as she was, halting was as good a description as any for what Janice was doing. Luckily, she was un-halted by an unlikely source. “Follow me!” cried Sydney, vaulting herself onto the winding banister before anyone could stop her and zipping down past the approaching soldiers with a whoop of glee.

“Careful!” said the soldier, fumbling with his musket. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself before we have a chance to shoot you!”

“Come on!” urged Zack, picking up Alexa and leaping onto the banister. As the littlest Rothbaum screamed in a mixture of terror and glee, the two of them followed Sydney to the ground floor.

At the top of the stairs, Janice hesitated. She was never the most graceful individual—what if she fell? A two-story drop could break an arm or leg.

“May we shoot the spies, sir?” came a call from behind.

“By all means!” answered the sir.

On the other hand…Janice climbed up and let gravity propel her down. One of the soldiers on the stairs, by now ready for this trick, reached out to grab her. But a well-placed shoe thrown from below knocked him away, allowing Janice to reach the bottom unharmed.

“Look out!” shouted the shoe-battered soldier. “They’re armed with footwear!”

“Dear God, no!” shouted another soldier.

“Thanks, Sydney!” said Janice upon reaching the ground.

“You owe me a shoe!” her sister snapped back with just the hint of a grin.

“This way!” called Zack, shoving the front door open to allow all four children to escape into the outside air.

Before them stood an encampment of battered tents, with bedraggled men sitting randomly on the ground in various states of boredom. Other, more official-looking men rushed from one tent to another on what looked like very important business. As inside, the entire scene seemed overlaid with a dry, dusty coat of yellowish gray.

“Where are we?” asked Janice.

“More accurately, when are we? And how do we get home?” added Zack.

Suddenly, the doors were forced open and the five soldiers ran out in a heady rush. “Redcoat spies!” they cried as one. “Get them!”

“That’s getting old,” growled Sydney.

“To the tents!” suggested Janice.

As one, the children rushed down into the sea of tents. They twisted their way through a labyrinth of yellowing gray canvas, zigzagging back and forth to throw off their pursuers. Luckily—and, Janice thought, oddly—none of the other soldiers they passed seemed interested in joining the chase. As they ran, Janice had the idea of ducking into one of the many tents and letting the soldiers run past them, but she could never find a way inside.

“Where are we going?” asked Sydney in midstride.

“Away from the guns!” answered Janice.

“My legs are tired!” warned Alexa. Zack took her hand to hurry her along.

“We’re not going to lose them in here!” shouted Zack.

“You got a better idea?”

Before he could answer, a strange old man popped out of one of the canvas tents directly in their path, forcing the children to skid to a halt.

“You can’t be here!” he snapped.

“We’re not spies!” pleaded Janice.

“Of course not! Your knob! Quickly!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sydney.

“You don’t…? Dog-eared dumplings! Of all the…” The old man’s face turned red, and he sputtered unintelligibly as if unable to find the right word.

“Why aren’t you old?” asked Alexa.

Janice’s initial reaction was to point out that the man in front of them looked quite old indeed, but she then realized what her little sister had meant.

He’s not yellow.

“Halt, redcoats! There’s no escape! We have you surrounded!” The soldier glared at them over the barrel of his musket. “And don’t even think about reaching for your shoes.”

With military precision, a circle of American Revolution–era soldiers surrounded the four children, aimed their muskets, and did their best to look threatening.

“Don’t shoot!” begged Janice, raising her arms. The others quickly did the same.

“Apprehend them!” ordered the soldier who seemed to be the leader. “Take them down to the dungeon! The really nasty one, not the fun one!”

“We’re not spies! We’re not British! Tell them!” cried Janice, turning back to the old man. “Tell them we’re not—”

The old man was gone.