“Mrs. Griffin!” he whispered, digging his fingernails under the lid. “Mrs. Griffin? Are you in there?”
There was a muffled thump from inside.
“I’m going to get you out,” he promised, hauling on the lid as hard as he could.
He didn’t have the strength to break the lock. In desperation he began to search the cellar, looking for some tool or other, and found himself two sizable rocks. Hefting them, he returned to the casket.
“This is going to be noisy,” he warned Mrs. Griffin.
Then, using one stone as a kind of chisel and the other as a hammer, he assaulted the lock. Blue sparks flew as he struck at the metal, but he seemed to be making no impression until, all of a sudden, the lock gave a loud crack and fell to the ground.
He paused for a moment, a feather of doubt brushing his brow. Suppose it was Carna’s coffin? Then he threw the rocks aside and hauled off the lid.
XVIII. The Bitter Truth
He almost shouted out loud, seeing the terrible state that poor Mrs. Griffin was in. She was staring up at him with wild eyes, her hair pulled out in clawfuls, her face purple with bruises. A foul rag had been stuffed into her mouth. Harvey carefully removed it, and she began to speak, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Thank you, my sweet, thank you,” she said. “But oh, you shouldn’t have come back. It’s too dangerous here.”
“Who did this to you?”
“Jive and Rictus.”
“But he ordered it, didn’t he?” Harvey said, helping her up. “Don’t tell me he’s dead, because I know that doesn’t matter. Hood’s here in the House, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said, holding on to him as she climbed up out of the box. “Yes, he’s here. But not in the way you think…” She began to weep, the tears clogging her words.
“It’s all right,” Harvey said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Her fingers went up to her face, and touched the tears. “I thought…I thought I’d never cry again,” she said. “Look what you’ve done!”
“I’m sorry,” said Harvey.
“Oh no, my sweet, don’t be sorry. It’s wonderful.” She smiled through her tears. “You’ve broken his curse on me.”
“What curse?”
“Oh, it’s a long story.”
“I want to hear.”
“I was the first child who ever came to Hood’s House,” she said. “This was many, many years ago. I was nine when I first walked up the front path. I’d run away from home, you see.”
“Why?”
“My cat had died and my father refused to buy me another. And what do you think Rictus gave me the very day I arrived?”
“Three cats,” said Harvey.
“You know how this House works, don’t you?”
Harvey nodded. “It gives you whatever you think you want.”
“And I wanted cats, and a home, and—”
“What?”
“Another father.” She shivered with fear, remembering the horror. “I met Hood that night. At least, I heard his voice.”
Stew-Cat had come to her feet, and she paused to stoop and gather the creature into her arms.
“Where did you hear him?” Harvey asked.
“In the attic at the top of the House. And he said to me: If you stay here, forever and ever, you’ll never die. You’ll grow old, but you’ll live until the end of time, and never weep again.”
“And that’s what you wanted?”
“It was stupid, but yes, I did. I was afraid, you see. Afraid of being put into the ground like my cat.” A new wave of tears came, running down her pale cheeks. “I was running away from Death—”
“—straight into its House,” Harvey said.
“Oh no, child,” Mrs. Griffin said. “Hood isn’t Death.” She wiped away her tears, so as to see Harvey more clearly. “Death is a natural thing. Hood isn’t. I would welcome Death now, like a friend I’d driven away from my door. I’ve seen too much, my sweet. Too many seasons, too many children.
“Why didn’t you try and stop him?”
“I have no power against him. All I could do was give the children who came here as much happiness as I knew how.”
“So how old are you?” Harvey asked her.
“Who knows?” she replied, laying her cheek against Stew-Cat’s fur. “I grew up and old in a matter of days, but then the passage of time seemed to lose its hold on me. Sometimes I’ve wanted to ask one of the children: What year is it in the world outside?”
“I can tell you.”
“Don’t,” she said, putting her finger to her lips. “I don’t want to know how the years have flown. It would hurt too much.”
“What do you want, then?”
“To die,” she said, with a little smile. “To slip out of this skin, and go to the stars.”
“Is that what happens?”
“It’s what I believe,” she said. “But Hood won’t let me die. Not ever. That’ll be his revenge on me, for helping you to escape. He already had Blue-Cat murdered, for showing you the way out.”
“Hood’s going to let you go,” Harvey said. “I promise. I’m going to make him.”
She shook her head. “You’re so brave, my sweet,” she said. “But he won’t let any of us go. There’s such a terrible emptiness inside him. He wants to fill it with souls, but it’s a pit. A bottomless pit—”
“—and you’re both heading for it,” said an oily voice. The speaker was Marr. She was oozing down the stairs. “We’ve been looking for you up and down,” she said to Harvey. “You’d better come with me, child.”
She extended her arms in Harvey’s direction. He remembered all too well her transforming touch. “Come! Come!” she said. “I might still get you out of trouble, if you let me make something humble of you. He likes humble things, does Mr. Hood. Fleas; worms; scabby dogs. Come to me, child! Quickly!”
Harvey looked around the cellar. There were no other ways out. If he was to get Mrs. Griffin up into the sun it had to be by way of the stairs, and Marr was standing in front of them.
He took a step in her direction. She smiled toothlessly.
“Good, child, good,” she said.
“Don’t,” Mrs. Griffin said. “She’ll hurt you.”
“Hush, woman!” Mary said. “We’re going to have to nail that lid down next time !” Her Greasy green eyes swiveled back in Harvey’s direction. “He knows what’s good for him. Don’t you, boy?”
Harvey didn’t reply. He simply kept walking toward Marr, whose fingers seemed to be growing like a snail’s horns, reaching out to fix upon his face.
“You’ve been such an obedient boy,” Marr went on. “Maybe I won’t turn you into a worm after all. What would you like to be? Tell me. tell me what’s in your heart…”
“Never mind my heart,” Harvey said, reaching out toward Marr. “What about yours?”
A puzzled look came over Marr’s face. “Mine?” she said.
“Yes,” said Harvey. “What do you dream of being?”
“I never dream,” she said defiantly.
