The Attic Door

By Jeni Canterbury

Charlie, Sam, and Alison discover a world filled with adventure, magic, and peril in an unlikely place. Their arrival could change the shaky future of the Westlands forever - if they are strong enough to navigate places and situations they could never have imagined.

To get home, they must bond with unexpected allies, fight enemies thought to be creatures of myth, and discover that they are stronger than they ever knew.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeni Canterbury
• Release date: Jan 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301225002

Jeni Canterbury

Jeni Canterbury has had a lifelong love of both writing and fantasy worlds. The Attic Door is her first published young adult novel. Watch for her next book, Imagination, coming soon.Jeni lives with her husband in Wisconsin and enjoys skiing, martial arts, biking, reading, and photography.

Book preview

Prologue

Hawke flattened himself against the cliff wall and tried to quiet his ragged breathing. He could hear his heart slamming against his ribcage over the tramping of the goblins’ iron shod feet just above his head. The eye-watering stink of the foul creatures threatened to make him retch, but he closed his eyes tightly and fought it down. He willed himself to stay silent and hoped the clanking of weapons and the stomping of heavy feet hid the noise as his boots loosened small rocks and sent them clattering into the gloom below.

Lost in thought, and fingering the odd shaped bundle he kept hidden inside his cloak, he had almost walked right into the marching patrol. He had time only to scramble over the edge of the steep path and hope his feet found purchase before they rounded the corner and began to file past. Luck seemed to be with him so far. He wedged his toes into a small crevasse and held on to the solid rocks near the top of the path.

Hawke kept his head down. In the gloom of twilight his dark hair and cloak would keep him hidden in the shadows, but his pale face would stand out if any of the creatures happened to look over the edge.

His fingers cramped and his legs began to shake from the strain of his position, but still the goblins marched by. This was no ordinary patrol; there were too many and, although they made a racket, they were moving very quietly for goblins. Hawke felt a deeper stab of fear for the friend he had just left, and his hands went slick with sweat. Fighting to keep his grip on the moss-covered rocks, he clenched his teeth and put all his concentration into remaining hidden.

After what seemed like hours, he lifted his head. The goblins’ noise was growing fainter as they marched down the path he had walked only a short while ago. He flexed his stiff fingers and began to pull his cramped body back over the edge of the mountain path. He lay panting with his face pressed to the damp earth until the tremors in his tired muscles passed.

Night had fallen, and he stood slowly looking down the dark path. His friend had known of his peril and sent Hawke on this errand before the attack. He knew he should turn and continue up the mountain; his friend was in grave danger, but he was beyond help now. Still, he had trouble turning away from the man who had sheltered him and helped him to understand the ways of this world.

As he stood in the path with his warring emotions, he heard the clash of weapons and the unholy battle cries of goblins as they attacked the stone walled outpost that had been a place of peace and beauty for years. He closed his eyes in grief for the friend he would not see again.

His moment of silence was shattered as a thunderous roar shook the ground and a great fireball shot skyward. The quaking ground knocked Hawke off his feet, and he very nearly rolled off the cliff. He caught onto a large rock to steady himself but the earth began to tremble under his feet.

He could hear rock splitting and trees cracking as he pulled himself up. The tremors grew and boulders bounced madly down the cliff. The stones he had clung to only a short while ago crashed away into the darkness. Hawke bolted up the path, clutching at the small, warm bundle next to his skin.

The earth buckled and shifted. He ran without looking back, stumbling often in the darkness as he escaped the storm unleashed below. He was drenched in sweat, and every muscle trembled with fatigue as he staggered up the last slope to the hidden doorway. Gasping for breath, he remembered the coded knock and rapped it out on the cold stone.

Almost instantly, the great door swung open. It was eerily silent. A small figure in a stained cloak stood in the gap. Only a pale crescent of the face was visible under the deep hood, and no words were exchanged. Hawke pulled the precious package from under his own cloak and pushed it into the still hands of the figure in the doorway.

The King, he gasped, still fighting to regain his wind. I must let the King know what has happened.

The hooded figure nodded and bent to retrieve a traveling pack. Hawke took it and turned to go, but a soft voice stopped him.

Travel in good speed, my friend, for you are the hope of my people, came the words from inside the folds of the hood.

I will not let you down, he said quietly.

He turned and left without another word. Hawke shouldered the pack as he ran. He had a long and difficult journey through rough country ahead, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed his aching muscles to respond one more time.

***~~***

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Did you see the way those tighty whitey’s billowed in the wind? asked Sam. He couldn’t seem to get the smile off his face.

I don’t know, Sam, answered Alison. After all the beatings you’ve taken from those three, running Carl’s underwear up the flagpole doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do.

This is great, put in Charlie. I’ve lived here for less than a week, and you’ve already got me on the hit list of the three biggest bullies in the whole junior high.

But his grin matched Sam’s as he added, Carl’s underpants did look like something you’d see hanging from the mast of a sailboat, though.

Charlie’s laughter died as he felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck. Before he could even turn around to look, Sam shot forward, sprawling into the dirt as he was shoved from behind.

Yeah, that was pretty funny all right, said the perpetrator. The wiry boy swaggered forward, running his hand through a clot of dark, greasy hair.

A huge, dull-looking blond boy stepped up beside him, followed by a husky redhead with a face that looked as if someone had molded it out of Play-Doh then squashed all his features together.

Charlie’s felt his stomach drop into his toes as he realized that he was looking into the angry faces of the very bullies he had just been talking about. He could see Alison’s face go white out of the corner of his eye, heightening his fear. Sam was still picking himself up out of the dirt. The three bigger boys circled, ready for action.

Run, whispered Alison as soon as Sam came to his feet.

She was sprinting away before the word was even off her tongue, and Charlie and Sam scattered in different directions half a second later. For a moment the bullies didn’t know what to do. But then the wiry one took off after Sam, shouting back at the other two. The enormous blond lumbered after him while the redhead dashed off after Charlie.

Charlie glanced over his shoulder as he raced across the schoolyard. His heart rocketed from his toes to his throat as he saw the muscular red haired boy close behind. Norm, he thought as it came to him. The boy’s name is Norm. He was now so close that Charlie could hear his snorting breaths as he pulled air into his freckled, upturned nose. Fear put wings on Charlie’s feet.

He left the school grounds and sprinted past the stores downtown, nearly bowling over several surprised shoppers. He tore around another corner at top speed, but he could still hear the heavy slapping of shoes on the pavement behind him. Charlie’s wind was almost gone. Knowing he couldn’t run much farther, he did the only thing he could think of and dashed up the library steps and into the old building itself.

He skidded to a stop on the marble floor of the entry. It was silent except for his ragged breathing. Mr. Pace, the gaunt old librarian whom Charlie had just met this morning, sat at his big desk opposite the door. At the commotion, he looked up mildly from the book he was repairing, his unusually green eyes magnified behind thick spectacles. The bigger boy was pounding up the steps now and a look of panic crossed Charlie’s face. He turned wide-eyed toward Mr. Pace, who calmly pointed into the stacks to the right of the door.

Charlie dove for the shelter of the towering shelves and, once he was out of sight of the door, slipped farther into the rows of books moving as silently as possible. He was afraid his breathing would give him away, so he slunk farther and farther in until he was finally in the corner at the opposite end of the building.

He could hear Mr. Pace calling after Norm on the other side of the room. But much closer, he could hear the bigger boy fumbling through the aisles looking for him. At least the library had him out of his element. Charlie doubted Norm had ever been in here before. The noises began to come even closer as Charlie looked around in a panic.

He noticed a door in the wall at the very end of the last bookshelf. The fact that it was only about four feet high registered in his subconscious, but he didn’t pause to think about it. He tried the old-fashioned knob, sure that it would be locked. It turned easily and the door swung open. There was a wide, steep staircase just inside the door. Charlie didn’t have time to think. He could see Norm’s thick neck and broad shoulders through the shelves only one aisle away. He slipped behind the door.

He closed it silently and felt for a lock. He couldn’t find one, so he kept his hands wrapped tightly around the cold metal of the knob and braced his feet against the doorframe. He stood still, hardly daring to breathe, with the stairs digging painfully into his backside. Norm was now standing just on the other side of the door, so close Charlie could hear him whispering to himself.

Where’d you go, you little pissant? the voice asked itself. I saw you through the racks. There’s no way out of here, so make this easier on yourself and give up now.

Charlie’s hands were going numb from gripping the doorknob, but he couldn’t believe his ears. Had Norm missed the door? He had practically been leaning on it as he talked to himself. It was small, but not that small. Then a horrible thought struck him. Maybe Norm was just playing with him. He knew it was the only place Charlie could hide, and now he was just standing there waiting for him to come out. But why, when he could just turn the knob and come in after him?

Charlie stood at the door for several more minutes, but it remained silent on the other side. He still wasn’t ready to go back into the main room. Even if Norm wasn’t just outside the door, he would still be in the library if Mr. Pace hadn’t found him yet. And if he wasn’t in the building, he’d be waiting outside for sure. By now he probably had Carl and Stan for company. He wondered briefly whether Sam and Alison had outrun them.

Still imagining the threesome just outside the library, Charlie decided to wait for a while before trying to leave the room. Now that Norm’s footsteps had faded, he felt his curiosity returning and he slowly climbed the stairs. He gazed around his shelter. It was a smallish room with a high ceiling, like the main room of the library. It was dusty and a little dim, for the only light came from a single window high up near the ceiling. The walls were wood and looked a little like the inside of an old attic. A dusty old hooked rug covered most of the floor, but there wasn’t much furniture.

A large armchair sat in one corner. The chair was low to the floor and very wide, so that two or three people could sit comfortably in it. There was a little footstool right in front of it. It was a rich, burgundy leather, old and much used, but obviously well cared for. The seat cushion invited him to squash right down into it for a good long read. There were small tables on either side of the chair with candlesticks and matches.

Charlie looked around and realized that there were no lights in the room. The library was very old; they must not have wired this room when they updated the building. The last item in the room caught his attention: an old wooden chest pushed against the wall near the stairs.

He walked slowly across the floor and stood in front of the chest. It was absolutely silent, and dust motes hung in the shafts of late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the high window. The silence and the strangeness of this hidden room were beginning to make Charlie feel distinctly creepy, and he began to imagine all sorts of strange things inside the trunk.

After a few moments, his hand moved to the latch. He half expected something dead and rotted to reach out and grab his wrist in an icy cold grip as he opened it. Instead, what Charlie found was an almost empty chest, holding only a single book. He couldn’t decide whether he was disappointed or relieved.

He closed the lid of the chest and walked to the top of the stairs, deciding it was time to try his luck at getting out of the library. He reached for the doorknob and froze, with one hand only inches away. There were voices just outside the door.

The little pig has to be here somewhere, there’s nowhere else to go.

He’s back, thought Charlie in a panic. Icy sweat formed along his hairline and trickled down his face.

This time a second voice answered, and Charlie recognized it as Stan’s. He couldn’t move as he listened to soft footsteps and the rustling of clothing only inches from where he stood. He had time to wonder if Stan had given up on Sam or if they’d caught his chubby friend so quickly that it was all over now. Once again, they didn’t seem to notice the door. The voices faded away, but all hope Charlie had of getting out right now was gone. When his heart had stopped pounding again, he walked softly back upstairs to the chest and pulled out the book. If he was going to be here a while, he might as well have something to do.

The book was larger and heavier than it had first looked, and it was covered in a thick layer of dust. He blew hard across the front, and a cloud of fine powder puffed out and hung in the air, making him cough. He clapped his hand quickly across his face to muffle the sound. The book was a perfect square and almost two feet to a side, though it didn’t seem particularly thick. Charlie wiped the last of the dust off the cover and sank into the deep leather chair.

It molded comfortably around him. The sunlight slanting through the window now came from a lower angle, making the room much dimmer. He carefully lit the candles on the tables at the sides of the chair and a warm glow fell on the book in his lap.

First he studied the cover. It was titled The Master Story of Worldes, lettered in a fine gold script across the top. The binding was well-preserved dark green leather and at first it looked rather plain. Charlie raised the book. When the candlelight crossed the cover he could see the outlines of figures stamped into the leather. He looked more closely, making out the forms of all kinds of creatures engaged in all sorts of activities. Some he knew, such as men, horses, and dogs, and some were creatures he recognized from stories and fairy tales he had heard as a young boy, such as dwarves and dragons. There were also creatures he did not recognize at all. His heart thumped a little harder in his chest as he looked at them.

The room around him was absolutely still with shadows beginning to form in the corners as evening turned to dusk. But Charlie didn’t care. He was running his fingers gently across the engraved outlines and beginning to feel a strange sort of excitement. He slowly opened the cover of the great book and spread it across his knees.

The pages were yellowed and obviously very old. He took care as he turned the first page over. There was no table of contents or summary or copyright, or any of the things he expected to see on the first few pages of the book. There was only a cryptic dedication, handwritten, that said: This book is dedicated to the Reader, who makes the storey what it is.

He stared at the words, wondering what they meant then turned the page. To his surprise, the text was also handwritten in the same flowing script as the dedication. Charlie wondered exactly how old the book was and whether it was valuable. The thought that it could be a very rare antique crossed his mind and he was briefly uneasy about what would happen if he damaged it. That thought passed quickly though, and he had no intention of putting the book down until he found out what the dedication meant.

He leafed through the pages to see if it was all handwritten. He was surprised to see that the pages were blank beginning about halfway through. More curious than ever, he sank deeper into the comfortable chair and began to read.

The storey began with the Stone. It was called the Errolstone, and it was not of the worlde in which it resided. The Stone had been mined from deep inside a mountain in a worlde that perished so long ago its name cannot be recalled. The Stone was sent by magic to another worlde when it became a certainty that its own worlde would perish, for a thing so beautiful and powerful should never be allowed to die.

It was nearly the size of a large Man’s fist, and it was the deep blue of the finest sapphire. One who gazed into the Stone would see an orange-red fire in its depths that would captivate the mind and make him feel a joy in his heart that he could not explain. Staring deeper, one would perceive that the Stone had great power that could be tapped for many purposes, and a fierce thrill would run throughout his body.

The Stone had resided in the Westlands for thousands of years, and it had provided the land with peace and great beauty. The three common populations, Elves, eldest of all, who were sons and daughters of the sea, Dwarves, borne of the sturdy stone of the Great Mountain, and Men, the children of the earth, were peaceful and friendly with one another. There was great bounty throughout all the land, and all were content. The Stone made it so.

Charlie felt a shiver run through him as he read; he could see the Errolstone clearly in his mind. The flowing script pulled him along, and he continued to read.

The Errolstone was kept safe and secret in the heart of the Westlands by the great Otten Wizards. The Wizards were a powerful race, and they, also, were not originally of this worlde. Whether they came with the Stone or from some other place and time, no one remembered.

Centuries passed, and still the land prospered. But the race of Ott began to fail. The Wizards no longer traveled the worlde, and tales of the wondrous Stone began to fade.

The words written in the ancient book were having a powerful effect on Charlie, and he began to see visions of the land and the Wizards and all the free people in his mind.

There came a time when the race of Ott had diminished so there were only a very few Wizards scattered throughout the entire land. Although the Errolstone remained the strong and powerful governor of the Westlands, none spoke of it. Garthen the Brave was the keeper of the Stone in those days. He was a powerful and peaceful Wizard, and he dedicated his life to learning the secrets the Stone could tell. He wrote volumes of research and lore on the use and powers of the great jewel and coaxed the Stone to unleash ever more prosperity and goodness into the Westlands. His research was recorded and preserved by his faithful Loremaster, Tiernen, a creature half-Man, half-Wizard, entrusted by the Otten counsel to record the history and lore of the Errolstone.

Never had any before known such a time of peace and plenty, although the people of the land did not know of what their good fortune had been borne. Splendid cities were built in the realms of Elves, Dwarves, and Men, each to their own fashion, and there was much trading and friendship between the races. Hundreds of years this lasted, for Wizards are very long-lived, especially those who spend time in the presence of the great Jewel of Errol. But they are not immortal, and Garthen eventually died, leaving the care of the Stone to his eldest sons, twins named Endall and Endor.

Charlie caught a chill as he read these last words and looked up from the book. For a moment, he was disoriented. The room around him was dim and hazy. But as he looked around it slowly came back into full view. He smiled self-consciously. He was getting jumpy in the silence, and he felt kind of silly.

There was little light coming in the high window now; more time than Charlie realized had passed. He knew he should be getting home.

Just a couple more pages, he thought, then I’ll go. He continued reading.

Garthen’s body was not yet colde when the trouble began. Endor and Endall were both proud and vain, and each thought he could do better at governing the Stone. They were foolish in this, for the Stone did not need to be governed, only protected.

As history tells, Endor and Endall shortly fell to war with one another. They were both very powerful Wizards in their own right, and they battled for many days on the pinnacle of Mt. Heran, beneath which the Stone had rested for many ages. Now the Stone was on the peake, in the keeping of Tiernen, who waited fearfully for the outcome of the great battle.

Lightning smote the mountaintop and thunder roared loud enough to crack timbers. Everyone for miles cowered in their homes and shook with feare at the fury of the storm unleashed by the two brothers.

Fire licked the peake of the great mountain and the battle raged on until the sky was thick with smoke and lightning that blotted out the sun. For three days, the war devastated the land and engulfed the country in a heavy, brown gloom. Finally, the mountain could take it no longer.

There was an ear-splitting crack, and a gaping hole opened at the peake of the mountain. The warring brothers were cast, shrieking, into this bottomless pit, and the sea flooded over the land for many miles, leaving only the uppermost peake of the mountain above the madly swirling waves. The glowing Errolstone lay at the edge of the abyss on the peake of Mt. Heran, shattered into three pieces that fit together perfectly like a puzzle. Tiernen lay stunned close by. The shards of the Jewel pulsed with light, and they began to change. No longer were they a rich, deep blue. One piece was glowing with a green light, and it resembled a large emerald. The second was the red of a fine ruby, and the third was as black as onyx. They were stunningly beautiful, but no longer did the pieces have a fire burning in the centre.

There was silence for several hours as the smoke and fumes cleared. But just before the first grayness of dawn began to creep into the east, a rushing of wind came, and the moons and the stars went dark. The great, winged shapes of three gigantic dragons settled gracefully to the ground in the clearing. They were as different from each other as could be. The first was a dark green beaste with glittering eyes and scales that seemed to absorb the very moonlight. His long, lithe body resembled that of a snake, but he had two sets of powerful legs that angled above his back, like an enormous insect. Next to him was a creature with red scales and a long, cruel horne protruding from his oversized snout. His neck was short, and his head was wide and flat. Stumpy legs that resembled those of a lizard supported a thick body. The third was the most majestic of all. She was golden in colour, and the moonlight reflected from her shining scales in cascades of silvre light. Her long neck arched proudly, and her eyes glinted as she turned her head back and forth. A spiked tail followed a rounded, graceful body, and it looked as if a white jewel rested on the creature’s forehead.

From the great back of each dragon, a small figure dropped to the ground. The last of the race of the Otten Wizards approached the shattered Stone and, without a word, each picked up one of the shards, wrapped it in cloth, and stowed it in an inner cloak pocket. Bent, as with heavy burdens, they turned and mounted the great beastes. With a swirl of wind, each dragon lifted its precious cargo and sped off to the east. A new age had begun for the Westlands.

This was the end of the first chapter of the book and Charlie was captivated. He might have turned the page and gone on reading all night if he hadn’t seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. In an instant, his mind jerked back to the little room. Thinking he had been caught, he slowly raised his eyes from the book, expecting to see Norm and Stan with evil grins on their faces.

Charlie’s eyes grew very wide and he clutched the book tightly. He didn’t see Norm or Stan. As a matter of fact, he didn’t see the little room at all. What he saw was a long, wide corridor, lit with torches. The walls were made of stone and the floor was of weathered wood. There were doors of many shapes, sizes, and designs along both sides that curved away into the distance. He was standing and the chair he had been sitting in was nowhere in sight. He caught the movement again to the left.

Charlie’s heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes were the size of saucers. He turned slowly, almost against his will. There, standing only a few feet away was a gnarled old man dressed in a ragged cloak. He raised his hand and pointed at Charlie.

The key, he said in a raspy voice.

Charlie gave a small yelp of surprise, stepped backward, and dropped the book. Instantly, he felt himself falling and a second later he landed in the oversized leather chair with a thump that forced the breath from his lungs. Charlie, wide-eyed, whipped his head around, but all he saw was the sleepy little room in the library attic. He was still sitting in the chair and the book had fallen closed across his knees. As his breathing and heartbeat began to return to normal, he noticed that the candles were burning very, very low and there was not a trace of light in the window far above.

I must have fallen asleep, he whispered to himself. "I had to have been asleep!"

His fear of what he had just seen giving way to the more practical fear of what his stepfather would say if he came home late, Charlie jumped up from the chair. He carried the book back to the trunk but, before he put it away, he traced his fingers softly across the gold lettering. An image of the Errolstone flamed in his mind, and Charlie hastily laid the book back in the trunk and closed the lid.

The candles were now guttering and beginning to go out. He picked up the tallest and blew the others out. He used this one to guide himself back down the stairs to the door then when his hand was firmly on the knob, he blew it out.

Blackness thicker than he had ever imagined filled his eyes and he had the wild thought that the old man from the corridor was standing next to him on the stairs, reaching out to touch his face. He twisted the knob and shoved the door open quickly, dropping the candle. The bright light from the library spilled in, and Charlie could see that there was no one else there. Feeling a little foolish, he stepped into the book stacks and pushed the door closed softly behind him.

He crept through the library, relieved that Mr. Pace hadn’t locked up and gone home while he was still in the attic. He saw no one until he neared the front door. Mr. Pace was still repairing old books behind the counter and Charlie couldn’t get out without him seeing. He wondered what the librarian would think, as it had been hours since he’d come running in the library door with Norm at his heels.

He stepped out from between the rows silently, thinking that if he made no noise, perhaps Mr. Pace wouldn’t notice him and he could sneak out the door without attracting attention. He was halfway across the marble entrance when Mr. Pace spoke.

Did you find anything that interested you, Charlie? Mr. Pace’s distinctively accented voice carried across the deserted foyer.

Er, yes, I did, Mr. Pace, he stammered. I started a very good story, thank you.

You come back again soon and finish your story. Books sometimes need people, too, you know.

Charlie looked up at the old librarian, and he could have sworn he winked at him before he looked down and continued working on the binding of the tattered book in front of him. But Mr. Pace said nothing else so Charlie walked slowly out into the cool night air.

The clock on the bank said it was after 9:00. Norm and Stan were long gone, but now he was more worried about his stepfather, Gordon. He began to jog through town and, ten minutes later, his house came into view.

Charlie’s stomach gave a little flip of anxiety when he saw Gordon’s Buick parked at a slant in front of the garage. The anxiety curdled into a cold knot of dread as he realized why the Buick was parked in front of the garage; because it wouldn’t fit in the garage; because the garage was full of junk; junk that Charlie was supposed to have cleaned out before he left the house this morning.

He was standing on the front walk half considering just walking away when Gordon’s voice boomed out from the deep shadows on the tilted front porch.

Boy, where the hell have you been?

The smell of scotch drifted down to him and Charlie knew better than to answer. He climbed the steps slowly and walked in the front door, shoulders tensed as he turned his back to his stepfather.

I asked you a question, boy.

Charlie turned and met Gordon’s bleary gaze for a moment then looked back down at his shoes, shoulders hunched, head down, in the submissive pose he knew might head off the man’s vicious temper. He remained silent, dreading the lecture to come. At least he had made it inside, so there wouldn’t be a show for the whole neighborhood.

Look at me, you worthless little snot.

Charlie again met his stepfather’s gaze, holding it for several seconds before dropping his eyes to the floor.

He wasn’t yelling, but his voice had that soft, menacing sound that was even worse. I think I remember telling you to clean out the garage this morning.

I’m surprised you can remember anything at all, Charlie thought, but he remained silent.

Gordon had a fistful of Charlie’s shirt faster than Charlie would have thought possible in his current condition. He pressed his unshaven face close.

Now you listen to me, boy. You live under the roof I provide and eat the food my hard work pays for. Your mother’s dead, your deadbeat daddy walked out on you before you were even born, and you’d have been a ward of the state years ago if it wasn’t for me. I keep you here out of respect for your mother’s memory, but I don’t owe you anything. You will not be a charity case in my house!

Gordon’s boozy breath was making Charlie’s eyes water and he had to fight hard to show the humility he knew was expected.

"You will do your share of the work around here, boy, or you and I are going to have a real serious go-around. You got that?"

Charlie’s temper flared. My share of the work includes being your personal slave, he thought.

But all he said was, Yes sir, I understand.

That must have been the right response because Gordon released his shirt. For a moment, he seemed to lose his train of thought and his unfocused eyes wandered around the small entrance hall. The laugh track on the TV brought him back a second later, and he headed off to the living room, veering slightly to the left as he navigated around the furniture and boxes.

Much to Charlie’s relief, he had been forgotten again. With a sigh he escaped to his tiny room. Sleep was a long time coming as he lay on his narrow bed. An image of the Errolstone hovered behind his closed eyelids and he was too restless to lay still.

I have to tell Sam and Alison about this tomorrow, he mumbled as he finally drifted off to sleep.

***~~***

Table of Contents

Chapter 2

Charlie woke the next morning to find the sun streaming in his bedroom window. The house had that special kind of silence that told him there was no one else home. As he jumped out of bed and began pulling his clothes on, the events of the previous day came back to him. Last night he had been so sure of what he had seen, but this morning he wondered if maybe he had imagined it. He needed to talk to Alison and Sam.

Then he remembered that the last time he had seen either of them they had been running for their lives with Carl and Stan close behind. Charlie had only met the cousins a couple of days earlier but he had a good guess about the outcome. Alison had a slim and athletic build. He had seen her run and she was fast. Charlie had no doubt that she had been able to outrun the bullies. Sam was a different story altogether. He was chunky and clumsy, with very little athletic ability. The first time Charlie saw him he had tripped out his own front door and fallen down the porch steps. Charlie had liked him immediately.

Sam’s fear of being pummeled had probably given him an extra burst of speed, though. Then Charlie remembered the vision of Carl’s voluminous underpants billowing from the flagpole and he sighed. Given the fury he’d seen in the other boys’ faces, he doubted any extra speed would have been enough to save his friend.

He ran a brush through his hair but, as usual, the thick curls didn’t want to

behave. He jammed his favorite cap over the unruly mop and decided it would have to do. He munched a piece of toast as he headed out the door toward Alison’s house. As he expected, his friends were waiting for him on the porch. Alison looked fine, but Sam had a nasty bruise under his left eye and scratches on his right hand and arm.

Looks like you’re faster than I am, said Sam cheerfully as Charlie joined them. They didn’t catch you?

No, but it was close, said Charlie. What happened to you?

Oh, the usual. Stan caught me before I was even across the park.

He must have hit you pretty hard, said Charlie eying the purple bruise.

Alison turned away to hide a wide grin as Sam sheepishly replied, Actually, he didn’t hit me at all. I tripped in the parking lot and fell down. That’s how I got the scratches and the black eye. When Stan got there, I was practically unconscious from hitting my head. Carl kicked me a couple of times, but I think they got worried that they’d get in trouble for knocking me out and took off.

I can see the headlines now, said Alison, no longer hiding her smile. "Being a Clumsy Dork Saves Boy’s Life. It ought to make the front page."

As usual, Sam’s cheerfulness was unquenchable. I would have gotten a lot worse if Stan had caught me standing up.

He looked at Charlie. But what happened to you last night? We tried to call you until almost nine o’clock.

"It was pretty strange. I’m not even sure I believe it anymore."

So what happened? asked Sam eagerly.

Charlie hesitated then finally said, This is going to sound pretty unbelievable, but something happened to me in the library while I was hiding from Norm and Stan. I couldn’t run any more, so I went inside.

He told them about running through the old stacks and finding the little door just as Norm was about to catch him. Sam and Alison looked at him curiously as he described the room and told them that Stan and Norm had both missed the door when they had been searching for him.

I don’t understand it, said Charlie, they didn’t even try the door. I haven’t even told you the strangest part, yet, he said, looking at them sideways.

Both his friends just sat and looked at him expectantly, so he began to tell them about the old book and the story of the Errolstone. But he found he couldn’t remember many of the details, even though the story seemed very clear in his mind just this morning.

Charlie realized how ridiculous it sounded now that they were sitting on Alison’s porch in the cool morning sunshine. He didn’t tell them about the corridor or the old man. Sam and Alison were his only friends in this new town and he was afraid they’d think he’d slipped a cog.

Anyway, things started getting fuzzy and I must have fallen asleep up there, he finished lamely.

He spent the morning with Sam and Alison but went home around lunchtime. They had other plans that afternoon and Charlie was restless. He left the house to take a walk with no particular destination in mind.

He shuffled along, still thinking about yesterday afternoon. Before long, he found himself staring up at the castle-like building that housed the library. He hadn’t even been planning to come here, but his legs walked themselves up the steps and into the grand front entrance. Several people were seated at the reading tables and Mr. Pace was behind the counter, as usual.

Good afternoon, Charlie, said Mr. Pace in a whisper. Busy day today. Sometimes makes it hard to find what you’re looking for.

He went back to stamping some new books before Charlie could ask him what he meant, so he just shrugged and walked toward the stacks. Charlie tried to follow the same route he had used yesterday, but he had been so busy fleeing Norm that he hadn’t really paid much attention. He knew the door was against the far wall, though, so he made his way that direction. There were several people browsing through the shelves and Charlie ducked around them quickly.

He rounded the last shelf and found himself in an aisle against the back wall. But there was no door, only books lined all the way up to the wall and bare wall between the shelves. He looked closely where the door should have been, but there was just a plain wall with scuffed white paint. There was nothing remarkable about it whatsoever.

Confused, Charlie made his way out of the stacks into the middle aisle and realized his mistake. He had wound through the shelves too far to the