Gatekeepers (5 page)

How long—?”

“It's all garbage,” Mr. King said. “I overheard them talking. It's all Taksidian. He got to the mayor. They can't hold me long. First they said we were being evicted, then they said I assaulted one of them.”

“But you didn't!”

“Shhh. I know that, and they know that. I think Taksidian just wanted us out for a while so he could plant some evidence in the house . . . or do something to the house that would force us to leave . . . or until he could bribe the right people into issuing a real eviction notice or charge me with child endangerment . . . What are you smiling about?”

“Child endangerment,” Xander said. “I think that house fits the bill. And you
did
bring us there.”

Mr. King dropped his head.

“Dad, I'm kidding.”

Mr. King looked into his son's eyes. He said, “No, you're right. I'm sorry about . . . all of this.”

Xander shrugged. “We're in this together now. We can't leave that house until we get Mom . . . and, Dad, I found her!”

“You what? Is she—?”

It was Xander's turn to lower his head. “Well, sort of. David and I went into this Civil War world . . . I know we weren't supposed to, but, Dad, I drew Bob on one of the tents. When we checked again, Mom had left a message. She was there!” He frowned. “We couldn't get to her, but we know where she is, and she knows we're looking for her.”

His wife's face filled Mr. King's mind. He blinked and saw his son, looking so much like her. He knew he should be angry that Xander and David had broken their promise never to sneak through a portal again. But that was some-thing they could address another time. Right now all he could feel was relief . . . and gratitude. He extended his hand through the bars. Xander squeezed it tightly.

“Xander,” he said. “You're doing it, son.”

“But . . . but, what now? You're locked up in here. They're trying to take the house. I don't know what to do.”

“Be strong and courageous,” Mr. King said. He smiled. He'd prayed his children would be exactly that since they were small. “As you have been.”

Xander nodded. He looked toward the office door. He said, “So, what . . . hold down the fort till you get home?”

“You got it.” He gave Xander's hand a firm clasp, then let go. He said, “You better leave, before the guy out there comes to check on me. Give your brother and sister a hug for me, okay?”

Xander stepped to the fire door.

“Son?”

Halfway through the door, Xander looked back.

“
Ti amo
.”

It was something they said, picked up from the owners of the restaurant where he had proposed to the future Mrs. King. It meant
I love you
in Italian.

“
Ti amo
, Dad,” Xander said, and disappeared.

CHAPTER

eight

T
UESDAY, 9.37 P.M

David heard the knock. He looked through the laundry room to the back door, in the center of which was a decoratively cut window. He didn't see anyone standing there, only shadows from the trees. He wondered if he'd imagined the noise—wanting Xander back so much—or if it had come from somewhere else in the house. He pulled back in.

Toria stared at him with monster eyes.

“No one's there,” he whispered. “Didn't you hear—?”

The knock again, a gentle
rap-rap-rap
.

This time a silhouette filled the window. David's heart pounded harder, until he recognized the shape of Xander's shaggy hair.

“What took you so long?” David said, opening the door.

“I came through the woods,” his brother said. “There's a cop car out front.”

“They showed up right after you left.”

They stepped into the kitchen.

“No problems?” Xander said.

“They knocked, but we didn't answer.”

“Creaking!” Toria said.

David shrugged. “The house was making some noises. I didn't hear any footsteps.”

“I did!” Toria said.

David shook his head. “No, you didn't.”

“Did too.”

“All right, guys,” Xander said. He leaned down to Toria.

“This is from Dad.” He hugged her.

“You saw him?” David said.

“He said it's all garbage. Taksidian set it up. Dad said it won't stick.” Xander looked at David and rolled his head. “I told Dad I'd give you one too.”

David hesitated, then smiled. He stepped into his broth-er's arms.

“Xander,” David grunted under the crushing pressure. “Not . . . so . . .
tight
.” When his brother didn't let up, he brought his foot down on Xander's toes.

“Hey!” Xander hopped away.

“Hey nothing. I got a broken arm, you know.”

“Big baby.”

David rubbed his arm. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

“Hold down the fort. That's what he said.” Xander looked from his brother to his sister. “So that's what we're going to do.”

CHAPTER

nine

W
EDNESDAY,12.25 A.M.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, Deputy Sam Parsell gazed through the windshield at the house. It was barely visible through the trees. Its lack of color allowed it to blend into the shadows, seeming to become nothing but shadow itself.

“Creepy,” he said. He snatched a Styrofoam coffee cup off the dash and took a sip. He grimaced at its taste, some-thing like cold motor oil.

His partner, Deputy Lance Harnett, sat behind the wheel.

“Holy cow,” Lance said. “Listen to this.” He held a magazine closer to the dome light and read: “Authorities in West Virginia are investigating reports of unidentified lights in the sky, which correspond with the claims of a Braxton County woman that a ‘monster' attacked her German shepherd and ate it. ‘It was horrible,' said Nanci Kalanta. ‘I went out to see what Killer was barking at. This
thing
ran out of the woods and gobbled him up. One bite, just like that.' Kalanta described the creature as having six or eight legs, a spiderlike body, and a bulbous head with tiny eyes and a mouth ‘the size of a storm drain.' ”

Lance pulled the magazine down and gasped at Sam. His mouth seemed as wide as the monster's he had just described; his eyes were big and startled. He said, “Can you believe it?”

Sam slapped the magazine out of his partner's hand. “No, I can't. Stop reading that trash.”

Lance picked up the magazine. Flipping through it to find his page, he said, “This ain't no gossip rag. It's the
Midnight Sun
, man
.
” He said it the way another person might have cited the
New York Times
. “It's real. They got interviews and pictures and everything.”

“Pictures of the monster?”

“Look,” Lance said. He pointed at an image of a backyard cluttered with trash. “That's where the dog
used
to be, and look, you can kind of see where the tree branches are broken.”

“Gimme that!” Sam grabbed the publication out of Lance's hands. He jabbed a finger into the cover, right into the fanged mouth of what might have been an orc from the Lord of the Rings movies. “What does that headline say? ‘Alien Baby Celebrates Third Birthday.' ” He threw the magazine at his partner.

Lance looked injured. He said quietly, “You just don't believe.”

“You're right, I don't.”

Lance rolled up the magazine and pointed it at Sam. “People used to think gorillas weren't real, either.” He shook the magazine. “This here is
science
. It's called
cryptozoology
.” He said the word slowly and carefully. “It's the study of creatures we don't know about yet.”

“What are they studying, then?” Sam said. He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally kicking himself for opening
that
door.

“Evidence! Eyewitness—”

Sam threw his hands up. “I know, I know. I've heard it already.” He looked out at the house. “I can't believe they got us babysitting.”

“Well, Sam, them kids are alone in there.” Lance's big eyes took in the house, the surrounding woods. “Ain't right.”

“Hey, it's their choice. Wouldn't catch me living in a place like that.”

Lance turned a big grin on him. “Afraid of
ghosts
?” he said.

“No, I'm not afraid of ghosts. I'd be afraid of rafters falling on me in the middle of the night.” Sam opened his door.

“Hey, hey,” Lance said, grabbing Sam's arm. “Whatta you doing?”

“I gotta pee,” Sam said. “If that's okay with you.” He pulled out of Lance's grasp, climbed out, and slammed the door.

Idjut
, he thought. He hitched up his pants, adjusted his gun belt, and scoped out the area for a leakworthy spot. The half moon made the house look black and as imposing as an ancient castle. The trees cast deep shadows that shifted as the branches swayed in a light breeze. Mist swirled over the ground, billowing up in the distance. It seemed to glow in the moonlight.

He veered off, away from the front of the house and from where the headlights would catch him if Lance switched them on. As he approached a particularly dark area, a twig snapped somewhere in front of him. He squinted into the shadows.

“Who's there?” he said in his toughest voice.

Something
screeeeeched
!

Sam jumped. His hand dropped to the handle of his pistol.

Screech!

He looked up and saw something moving on the roof of the house. It screeched at him again, and he sighed. It was an old weather vane, mounted to the peak of the gabled roof over the tower. He moved his feet, carefully picking his way over exposed roots and low-lying brambles.

Another twig snapped. He spun toward the sound. It had come from the front of the house on the other side from where he stood.

Animal
, he thought.
Had to be
.

He supposed one of the kids could be tromping around, but he and Lance had watched the lights go out more than an hour ago. They had assumed the three inside had gone to bed. He surveyed the front of the house now. No lights.

Something thumped behind him.

Oh, man
, he thought, cursing Lance and his talk of ghosts and things that ate German shepherds whole.

CHAPTER

ten

W
EDNESDAY,12.37 A.M.

David woke with a large, warm spider clinging to his face. He brushed at it and realized it was Toria's hand. He lifted it and set it on the pillow between their heads. She mumbled, scratched her nose, and rolled over. She had wiggled toward him until he was teetering on the edge of the mattress. He shifted to his side and gently pushed at her. She didn't budge. He considered joining Xander on the floor, but even a sliver of the bed was better than that.

Bump
!

He rose up onto his elbow, listening. Something in the house had made a noise. He heard it again—not a bump this time, but a low creak. Then another.

Footsteps
! Or someone trying to walk quietly. His eyes moved to the bedroom door. By the glow of the nightlight he could tell it was still closed. Another creak—out there, somewhere.

“Xander?” he whispered. Louder: “Xander!”

His brother's deep, rhythmic breathing reached him from the floor on the other side of the bed.

He dropped his feet to the floor and stood. Something bumped. He thought about the boxes in the hallway: lots of things to knock into, if you were creeping around in the dark. He went around the bed and knelt in front of Xander. His brother's head was a mass of dark, tangled hair.

David shook him. “Xander, wake up.”

Xander shifted in his sleep.

Creak
.

David snapped his eyes to the door. He shook his brother harder. “Xander!”

“What?” Xander lifted his head, plopped it back down.

“I hear something,” David said. “Someone's moving around out there.”

Xander rolled over. He blinked at David, his face like someone in pain. “Someone . . . what?”

“I think someone's in the house.”

Xander pushed off his blanket and sat up. He stared at David, listening. “I don't—”

“Shhh,” David said.

Ten seconds . . . twenty . . .

Creeeak
!

Xander jumped. He got to his feet and pulled David up.

“Where's it coming from?” David whispered.

“In this house, could be anywhere.”

“Right outside the door,” David whispered. His fear had found its way to his voice.

“I thought maybe . . . upstairs,” Xander said.

Great
, David thought,
now the house is making each of us hear dif-ferent things.

Xander stooped to pick up the toy rifle that had been lying beside him. With a wood stock and metal barrel, it made a sturdy club. He moved to the door.

David grabbed a handful of his brother's T-shirt and followed.

Xander pushed his ear to the wood. He looked back, shook his head.

“Let's go back to bed,” David whispered. “Wait till morning.”

Xander opened the door.

CHAPTER

eleven

W
EDNESDAY,12.41 A.M.

Sam dropped into the passenger seat of the police cruiser and slammed the door. He glared through the windshield at the house.

“Everything come out okay?” Lance said with a snicker.

“There's something going on,” Sam said.

Lance followed his partner's gaze to the house. “Whatcha mean?”

“I heard noises. Like someone walking around in the woods.”

“The kids,” Lance suggested.

Sam didn't speak for a while. He scanned the woods in an arc, starting where Lance's head blocked his view and ending with the passenger-side window. Finally he said, “
Maybe
the kids. But I went up on the porch, checked the door. It was locked. If it was one of the kids, the door wouldn't have been locked.”