It was the room of a small child. There was a painted wooden rocking horse, a small iron bed, and a rocking chair. The room smelled stale, as if the air was a hundred years old. A cold creepiness tickled up my spine.
Then the rocking chair began to rock. It was facing the other way and I couldn’t see who—or what—was in the chair.
It rocked to and fro, to and fro.
“Come to me,” said a faint unrecognizable voice from the shadowy depths of the chair. “Come to me, Jason. Come to me or die!”
29
More than anything I wanted to run out of that strange little room and never look back. I didn’t want to know what was in that rocking chair. I didn’t care, all I wanted to do was get out of there.
But I couldn’t leave Sally.
The house kept trying to trick me, trying to scare me. It didn’t want me to find my little sister. It wanted her all to itself.
Something told me that if I ran down the stairs the house would let me back into my own room. I could sleep safe in my own bed. But I’d have to leave my sister behind.
I couldn’t do that.
I opened my eyes. The little chair was still rocking there in the dark, in the shadows.
I had to know. Dread seeped into my veins as I crept toward the chair.
It kept rocking, creeeek, creeeek, creeeeeek.
I stretched out my hand, hestitated, then spun the chair around.
“Sally!”
It was my little sister. She was slumped in the chair, her blond curls covering her face.
I knelt on the floor and touched her shoulder. “Sally!”
She stirred, raised her head. I held my breath. Was she all right?
Sally opened her eyes, yawned, and smiled at me. I hugged her.
“Sally, how did you get here?”
She snuggled in my arms. “I don’t know,” she said, puzzlement in her voice. “I went to sleep and when I woked up I was in that little bed. It’s Bobby’s bed.”
“You don’t remember getting up here?”
Sally shook her head. “Bobby wants me to do something. But I didn’t know what to do so I just got up and rocked in the chair. I knew you would come and save me.”
I looked around and held Sally tighter. “What about Bobby? Is he here?”
Sally pushed away from me and looked around. “No. I don’t think he is. He’s in trouble.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” I asked.
“He wants us to save him,” Sally said, looking at me with her big blue eyes.
“Save him from what?”
“I don’t know.” Sally clutched my arm with her little hand. “Something terrible.”
Behind me the floorboards creaked heavily. Something had come into the room. I thrust Sally behind me and turned around to face it.
The grandfather clock was standing in the doorway.
How did it get all the way up here?
The clock struck the hour. The sound echoed in the small, low-ceilinged room. Three times it struck.
When the echo died out, a metallic, mechanical voice began to speak from inside the clock.
“TICK TICK TICK,” it said. “YOUR TIME IS UP!”
Sally clung to me, hiding her face in my pajama top.
The clock began to creep toward us across the floor, shuffling and rocking.
Coming to get us.
I backed up until I was against the wall with no place to go.
The big clock loomed over us, then tipped forward. It started to topple.
Its weight would crush us like bugs!
30
I crouched over Sally, waiting for the clock to smash us to pieces. Suddenly I felt a cold breeze—there was a crack in the floor, right under us!
I felt around and found a metal ring set into the floor—the handle of a trapdoor! I had no idea where it went, but it didn’t matter. If we stayed here we’d be roadkill.
So I twisted the handle on the trapdoor and it opened. Sally and I fell through the hole and the clock landed with a crash across the opening, just missing us.
As we fell I hugged Sally tight, bracing for impact. To my surprise we landed on something soft and bounced.
I opened my eyes and looked around. We were on Sally’s own bed, in Sally’s own room.
Above us the trapdoor slammed closed. Then it vanished and the ceiling was smooth again.
A howl of rage came from the attic above. There was a furious pounding on the ceiling and we were showered with plaster and dust.
Sally whimpered in fear and I held her until the noise stopped.
Around us the house quieted.
I stayed huddled on the bed, thinking. Trying to concentrate. Something had saved us from the evil clock. Was it Bobby? But Sally said it was Bobby who took her to the attic in the first place. Just as it was Bobby who put her in the tree—and then saved her from falling. So maybe Bobby had somehow saved us from the evil clock. Maybe he was trying to help, somehow, and wanted us to help him in return.
But what about the skeleton in black that stalked me and wandered the house searching for something? Who was that? What did it want? Why was it threatening us?
Whatever it was, its presence seemed to bring out the demon in Bobby.
I sighed and peeled Sally off me. She was still pretty scared. “I think we’re safe now, Sally,” I said. “But we have to get out of this house. At least until morning.”
“I want Mommy,” said Sally. “I want my mommy.”
OK,” I said. “We’ll wake up Mommy. But first let’s get a sweater on you in case we have to go outside.”
My heart finally began to slow to normal as the house stayed quiet. Maybe Sally and I had just gotten caught in the middle of a struggle between Bobby and the skeleton thing. Maybe they had finished their battle in the attic and it was over, for tonight, at least.
I wanted desperately to believe it was over but I was still as jumpy as a cat.
