The Goblin's Winter Read online

  Mr. Murray didn't drive anymore, not since an accident that had taken place before Danny was even born. He kept himself busy reading maps and quizzing Danny on geography.

  “Samoa,” said Mr. Murray. “South Pacific or Oceania?”

  “Oceania,” said Danny.

  “Excellent!”

  “See,” said Danny. “I remember things better when you teach

  me.“

  “You're not being homeschooled,” shot Miss Grace from the front seat. “I'll say it as many times as I have to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you need to go to school to learn and get along with people better. Make friends,” she said. “You know. Socialize. Learn how to socialize.”

  “Look at us,” said Ali. “We've been friends for over thirty years, since we were younger than you are now. Friends are important.”

  Danny had heard this many times and still considered it to be a huge crock of cow feces. “But I don't make friends at school,” he said. “The kids don't like me. The teachers don't like me.” All I learn at school, he thought, is where all the best hiding places are.

  “We understand,” said Mr. Murray. He turned to Miss Grace. “Perhaps we could send him to a private school.”

  “We could talk about it, I suppose,” she answered. 'Talk about it' usually meant no, and likely did in this case because Danny knew they couldn't afford things like private school. His grades weren't going to get him any scholarships, either, plus now he had a suspension on his record.

  “Reform school?” he asked, and they all laughed. “What?” he said. “I'm suspended. I am a total rebel, a bad-ass.”

  “Yeah, oooh, look out Crips and Bloods,” said Ali, throwing up exaggerated fake gang signs. Danny laughed.

  “We'll talk about it when we get home,” said Miss Grace. “You have a week left to your suspension. We have plenty of time to figure something out.”

  “Yes, let's not dwell on this right now,” said Mr. Murray. “Let's enjoy a visit to our hometown. None of us have been here in years and years.” He turned to Danny. “Do you remember it at all?”

  “I've been there?” he said, surprised.

  “I'll take that as a no,” said Mr. Murray. “I guess you were very small when your father was- when he died.”

  When he was murdered, thought Danny. They never said it, the word. Murdered. “We didn't live there though, right?” he said. “We lived in Maryland.”

  “That's right,” said Ali. “But you visited every summer.”

  “He was only a baby,” said Mr. Murray. “I'm not surprised he doesn't remember.”

  This triggered a long 'do you remember' type of conversation among the Keepers that Danny didn't have any connection to, people and things he didn't know about, so he let his mind wander. He decided to keep pushing for homeschool. After all, it wasn't learning that he hated. He liked knowing stuff. He hated school. Different thing altogether. He had a week to wear them down.

  Then...

  “NEW HAMPSHIRE!” they all yelled in relief.

  “I've never been so happy to see a highway sign before,” said Miss Grace, at least seventy percent of the stress clearing from her face.

  Danny thought that meant they were almost there, but it was another hour before they pulled off of the highway. All of the signs they were following said 'seacoast', which piqued Danny's interest.

  “Seacoast?” he prompted alertly.

  “Eddystone is a seaside town,” said Mr. Murray. “It's right on the ocean.”

  “Like Ocean City?” asked Danny, very excited. He loved OC. He'd been begging for years to move from their small house in Easton to Ocean City. Either that or Baltimore City. He loved Baltimore too.

  Miss Grace always said no. She maintained that she liked the small town thing, though Danny observed that she didn't like the one they lived in very much.

  “Like Ocean City only much smaller,” said Mr. Murray. “There is a little boardwalk and some amusements along the beach.” He looked out the window at the falling snow, which had become very deep along the side of the road as they'd come into New England. “Those things won't be much fun this time of year, of course.”

  It was getting dusky out. Miss Grace flipped on the headlights. They passed a brightly lit farm store, a small gas station and a darkened garden store closed for the season according to the sign (See you in the sp ing! it read, the 'r' lost or run away). Scattered signs of civilization here and there. Other than that, it was trees, snow, trees, snow, and more trees.

  They crested the top of a steep hill. Danny could see a town off in the distance, down the road. The lights of houses and shops shone through the gathering dark and snow. Farther out he could see the beam of a lighthouse sweeping across the gray winter waters of the Atlantic, stormy and agitated, boats bobbing up and down like corks next to the docks they were tethered to.

  The headlights illuminated a whitewashed sign with blue trim, standing on the side of the road.

  Welcome to the Town of

  Eddystone, New Hampshire

  pop. 6,664

  Founded in 1626 and 1636

  Welcome/ Bienvenue!

  “Why was it founded two times?” asked Danny

  “Actually,” said Mr. Murray, “it was founded three times. The first settlers abandoned it, and then the second settlers, well, disappeared, and then the third group had more sticking power I suppose.”

  “Disappeared?” said Danny.

  “Vanished,” said Ali, with much drama and lots of hand movements. “Without a trace.”

  “Very cool,” said Danny, impressed.

  “Yes, we thought you'd like that,” said Miss Grace dryly. “So if there's the sign, the turn should be right about- ”

  “There!” yelled Ali, pointing left, hand directly in front of Miss Grace's face. She braked hard and skidded to a slow halt on the icy road. She turned slowly to give Ali the Miss Grace Look of Death. He shrugged, looking sheepish.

  Throwing the car into reverse, she backed up a few feet and turned left into a long, paved driveway that wound through a tunnel of trees. The way was dark, the trees growing together in a canopy that clung together so thickly overhead that the snow was barely reaching the ground.

  They came to a fork in the road, split by a twisted old tree. The left fork had a cheerful sign that read, “Chatwin Farm, apples, blueberries, strawberries, pick your own! (in season)”. On the right was a dilapidated post reading, “Gnomewood Home- private property, trespassers will be-” with the last word worn away.

  They turned right.

  “Will be what?” asked Danny.

  Ali swung around, eyes wide and voice deep. “Mur-derrrred,” he intoned.

  “And you wonder where I get it from,” said Danny.

  “I don't wonder anything,” said Miss Grace, elbowing Ali.

  “We're not trespassers,” reassured Mr. Murray. “We're fine. Probably. No murder today.”

  Danny couldn't always tell if Mr. Murray was joking or not.

  The Volvo bumped along, sliding and jumping. Miss Grace grumbled and hung on to the wheel with determination. The trees were even closer together here, and it was dark and hard to see. Danny peered out the side window. If he looked at them the right way, the trees had faces.

  Mean, nasty faces. The faces of people-eating trees. He quickly faced front again, just as what was left of the daylight filtered back into the car as they left the cover of the tree tunnel.

  The tires crunched slowly around a large circular driveway. A gigantic oak tree grew in the center of the roundabout. A brick of granite was set in front of the tree like a gravestone.

  “Gnomewood Home,” it read. “Built in 1625 by Attar Aldrich Wildwood. Lux Pacis Lucet Hic.”

  “So what do you think of your family homestead, Danzellan?” asked Mr. Murray. “Sorry it's so small.”

  Danny stared as they approached the front of the house.

  Gnomewood rose above them high against the c
old, gray sky. It held itself with neglected dignity. Made of crumbling red brick held together by carpets of beleaguered ivy, Gnomewood Home was three stories high if you included the row of attic dormers. It stretched out on one side to a cone-topped turret and a long, domed glass enclosure. Over on the other end was a room with tall windows, curved on the side. In between those was a whole lot of house, more house than Danny had ever seen in real life.

  The vegetation surrounding it looked overgrown and wild, bushes and trees left to do their own thing with no gardener to keep them in line. Wide marble steps led up to a covered porch and the front door, painted in cracking blue and decorated with a brass doorknocker in the shape of a dragon's head. The snow fell silently around the car as they all looked up at it. The windows looked back, considering them in return.

  Danny was gobsmacked. “I thought you said it was a farmhouse?” he asked.

  “It is,” said Ali. “Just a big old farmhouse. A really big old farmhouse.”

  Nobody moved.

  “We could stay in a hotel,” said Ali.

  “I suppose we could,” said Miss Grace slowly. “Enzo suggested we stay here, and I thought that sounded like a fine idea. At the time.”

  They all looked at each other.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Mr. Murray. “Why are we all just sitting here? We loved this place when we were kids.” He pushed himself across the seat. “Someone help me with my braces.”

  Danny opened his door and popped out into the coldest air he'd ever felt on his skin. He made an involuntary noise of instant shock and discomfort. He felt like someone had sprayed him all over with that stuff that had shattered the T-1000. “Oh..my..god,” he whispered, and hurried to open Mr. Murray's door.

  He helped Mr. Murray swing his legs out and put his special walking canes on his arms. Ali and Miss Grace had mobilized, Ali coming around to help Mr. Murray on the other side.

  Miss Grace hurried up the steps, hunched into her coat. She swore through chattering teeth. “The temperature must be at least minus twenty with the wind chill.”

  “This cold spell,” said Mr. Murray, making his way to the steps, “was all over the news, Gloria. It's been brutal all over New England for over a week.” He launched into a complex explanation of what had caused the unusually cold temperatures, but Ali cut him off.

  “Wonderful,” said Ali. “Good to know. Let's get inside.”

  They helped Mr. Murray to the covered porch, where they were out of the snow and in the lee of the wind. Miss Grace rummaged in her bag for the keys.

  Danny looked out across the property. There were no neighbors, no nearby lights. The house was surrounded by woods, dark and deep, the trees winter black and crouched like panthers. White frosting lay thickly on their branches. It was so quiet he could hear the soft sound of the snow falling.

  “Look at this,” said Mr. Murray to Danny, drawing his attention away from the woods and toward the door. “I've always loved this,” he said, running a light hand over the dragon door knocker's head.

  “Your mother called him Bruce,” said Ali, laughing.

  “Go ahead, give it a bang,” said Mr. Murray. “It makes a tremendous racket. You can hear it anywhere in the house.”

  Danny reached out and put his hand around the brass ring hanging in the dragon's mouth. The metal was so cold it was like touching an iceberg. The dragon moved its carved, burnished eyes to look at him. It made eye contact. Danny froze.

  “Go on,” Mr. Murray prompted.

  The metal warmed under his hand. Quickly, he picked up the ring and let the hammer underneath fall, then letting go and pulling his hand back.

  BOOM. He could hear the sound reverberating inside the house, echoing into eternity.

  He put his hand in his pocket and stepped back. The doorknocker was still looking at him. Just on the edge of hearing, he thought he heard it whisper something. Danny scooted back, almost falling down the icy steps.

  “Be careful,” scolded Miss Grace. She reached around in her bag. “Where are those keys?” With a sound of extreme frustration, she thumped her bag down. “I had them. I had them back at home, I had them when we stopped in New York, I've had the whole time and now they're gone.”

  She looked furious. Things didn't usually go wrong for Miss Grace. She was always together, always competent. Gloria Jean Grace didn't lose things. “I suppose we'll have to call Enzo,” she said. ”Maybe he has another set.”

  “Now wait a moment, Gloria,” said Mr. Murray. He hobbled over to a large planter full of dead vegetation and dry dirt over by the edge of the porch. “Maybe it's still here.” He leaned over and gripped the edge of it. Miss Grace and Ali went over to help.

  They moved the planter. It must have been plenty heavy, Danny thought, because even Ali was straining to lift it. Mr. Murray bent down and came up with an object in his hand. He showed it to everyone. “See, still here,” he said.

  They all looked at the black iron key in his hand. “Anthea always hid it there so we could get inside in case of an emergency,” said Miss Grace. “You remembered. I'd forgotten.”

  Danny's Keepers smiled at the key, sharing some thought or memory Danny wasn't privy to. Mr. Murray handed the key to Danny. “Go ahead,” he said. “Open the door to Casa Wildwood, Danny. “

  Miss Grace turned away, covering some fleeting emotion she didn't want anyone to see. Danny knew they'd all been friends with his mother, but he'd never thought about it deeply, what that meant to them. Enough to raise her kid for her after she'd boogied off, anyway.

  Keeping a sharp eye on the door knocker, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a loud 'click'. Desperate to get out of the cold, he scrabbled at the fancy brass handle and the door swung open.

  Emotional moment over, they all pushed into the dark space inside, laughing. “Ugh,” said Ali. “What a warm welcome our little town is giving us, huh?”

  “Hold on,” said Mr. Murray, and Danny could hear him fumbling around by the wall. The space they were in was small and dark. An enclosed entranceway, he realized. There were indistinct shapes and shadows around them. Another door ahead, an inner door leading into the house. Then Mr. Murray made an 'aha' sound and said, “Moment of truth, everyone!”

  Danny heard a 'snick' and the vestibule was bathed in warm overhead light.

  Danny saw a horrifying figure standing directly in front of him, looming over him, holding something in its hand to smash him over the head with. “AAAAGH!” Danny yelled, and jumped backward, banging into the wall behind him upsetting an umbrella stand.

  Ali grabbed Danny around the shoulders, laughing. “Anubis!” he said. “I'd forgotten about him!”

  Danny looked up at the seven-foot-tall statue of the Egyptian god Anubis, its jackal head held regally high. It stood up against the patterned wall of the vestibule next to a coat rack and a table that was covered in papers. Someone had hooked a cane over one of its arms.

  “I was always very suspicious of him,” said Miss Grace, wagging a finger at the statue. “I used to think he went walking around when people weren't looking.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, the electricity is still on, that's good news. I wasn't sure.”

  “Let's hope the heat is working, too,” said Ali, hugging himself. They could all see their breath even though they were inside.

  “If it's not,” said Miss Grace, “there are plenty of fireplaces.”

  “And several hotels to choose from,” said Ali.

  Miss Grace gave him The Eyebrow and went over to the inner door, which was made of heavy oak and had a stained glass window in its center. “Come along,” she said.

  She opened the door into a massive darkened cavern. Danny walked forward, peering into the shadows and gloom. The windows on the front of the house had their curtains drawn, but the tall ones at the back were open and allowed weak light to enter. Danny could make out an enormous room with a high ceiling, a sweeping staircase leading up to a wide, carpeted landing over which the row
of windows stood guard. Everything else was just shadows and shapes until someone turned on the lights.

  Danny squinted at the sudden brightness. He opened one eye, and then the other, and gazed around in awe.

  The light was provided by a chandelier that hung high above. It was made of silver metal that had been worked and twisted to create a highly detailed octopus, nearly life-size, each of its eight legs holding a glowing candle-bulb. They were in an entrance hall, with green patterned wallpaper, random sconces, oak trimmed archways leading off into different parts of the house. Wooden flooring, mostly covered with a worn oriental carpet, creaked under their feet.

  On the landing at the top of the staircase was a tall grandfather clock, burnished ebony black. Its silver pendulum was the size of a dinner plate, motionless behind the etched glass door on its front.

  The house was silent as the grave and just as cold.

  “I'll go down the basement and see to the boiler,” said Miss Grace.

  “I'll check the kitchen,” said Ali.

  “I'll go through the house and make sure it's secure,” said Mr. Murray.

  “You're just heading for the library,” said Ali. “You can't fool us.”

  Mr. Murray looked wounded. “I'm making myself useful,” he said. “But I'll check the library first.”

  They all headed for different doors, and Danny wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He was by himself in the entrance hall, just him and the clock. He could feel its presence like it was a person, a stranger he'd been left alone with.

  He crept up the stairs toward the clock. As he got closer he saw that the face wasn't the face of a normal clock. Instead of numbers, it had all sorts of symbols in concentric rings, and many pointy black hands of different sizes, all of them bent at right angles in the middle. That's weird, he thought. So if it doesn't tell time, what does it tell?

  He walked up to it, gazing up at the face, trying to work it out. Some of the symbols looked familiar, others were shapes or letters he'd never seen before. Some of these symbols were etched into the glass that covered the pendulum. They surrounded a circle that had a distinctive symbol engraved at its center. He reached out a hand and ran a finger over its shape, tracing, fascinated. It felt almost familiar. Maybe he'd been here and seen the clock before. He traced and traced, trying to figure out if it was a memory he was having or just one of his little glitches when sharpness nipped at his fingertip.