The Turning (5 page)

I wanted to say, Come on, kids. You can trust me. I promise. But I told myself, Shut up. If I said too much too soon, I would only alarm them. And if I scared them now, I could give up on the rest of the summer.

Relax, I told myself. You’ve been here fifteen minutes. You weren’t going to be best friends right away.... Of course the kids are a little shy—orphaned when they were tiny, growing up in a creepy old mansion on a deserted island. That was enough to make anyone “unusual,” especially children whose only living relative is paying good money so he won’t have to see them or hear one word about them. And whatever Miles learned in school about the outside world, he seemed to have forgotten it all when he returned to the island.

We backed out of the billiards room and headed down another hall, then up another flight of stairs so steep and narrow it reminded me of the staircase on the ferry, though it was a lot easier to get up the stairs when the floor wasn’t being rocked and pitched around by the ocean.

“Where are
your
rooms?” I said.

Miles said, “Oh, pretty far away. On the other side of the house.”

I’m afraid this is going to sound crazy.

But when the kids said that, I had this insane thought that the children were little vampires, and that every night they went back to their tombs somewhere in the basement. Remember we saw that vampire film that everyone loved, and we kind of enjoyed it but agreed it was silly? I know they’re just lonely little kids who have no friends and never learned from other kids what normal kids are supposed to act like. I wish that you were here with me, Sophie. You’d know how to talk to them; you’re the oldest in your family. You had all that practice with your two sisters, your little brother, and then the twins.

I said, “Tell me something, kids. Am I going to be able to find my way around here? Or am I constantly going to get lost without you two leading me around?”

Miles said, “Maybe you’ll get lost once or twice. But you’ll figure it out. They always do.”

“They?” I said.

“Visitors,” Flora said quickly.

“I didn’t know you kids got all that many visitors,” I said, instantly sorry. I didn’t want them to think I was saying they didn’t have any friends, which they obviously didn’t.

“You’re a visitor,” said Miles.

“I’ll be here for two months,” I said.

“That’s a long visit,” said Flora.

Finally, Miles opened a door to a huge attic with skylights, armchairs, rugs, a bed, a desk. On the bed was a striped blanket, and on the wall were paintings in simple wooden frames. The room was spacious and bright and smelled new, like wood shavings. Actually, it smelled like my dad when he came home from a carpentry job.

“This is your room,” Flora said.

Miles said, “If you like it.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “It’s awesome.”

“Linda fixed it up just for you,” Flora said.

“So no one lived here before?” I said.

“No,” said Miles, and Flora said, “No,” almost at the same moment, and for the first time I was pretty sure they were telling the truth and not trying to keep something secret.

I liked the idea of a room created just for me, because … I promise, this is my last crazy thought of the day. For some reason it crossed my mind that if the house was really haunted, it would take the ghosts longer to find me in a room that no one had lived in before. Maybe by the time the ghosts figured out I was there, two months would be over, and it would be time to leave the island. Are you laughing at me, Sophie? I hope so!

I sensed that Flora wanted to hang around and watch me unpack. But Miles said, “We’ll be leaving now if you think you’ll be okay without us.”

I said, “I’ll be fine, thanks, kids. I’ll see you soon.” I looked at my watch. It was almost four. “Maybe I’ll take a nap. Don’t let me sleep through dinner, okay?”

“Should we come get you?” said Flora.

I said, “I can find my way back.” It would have seemed too pathetic to ask the kids to come help me and keep me from getting lost inside their own house. I was supposed to be in charge. “Just tell Linda to make sure to call me.”

Miles said, “We will, but I don’t know how well you can hear anyone from here.”

The kids exchanged one more look. This one gave me the chills. Then it was over so fast I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it.

“We’ll tell Linda,” Flora said. They turned around and left.

Don’t get me wrong, Sophie. I like the kids, sort of. They’re interesting. That’s for sure. Still, it felt good to be alone and have a few hours to rest in my room, which was a million times nicer and more spacious than anything I’d imagined. Though now, come to think of it, I had no idea what I’d imagined.

I set my laptop up on the wooden desk, beside a window. From my chair I can see beautiful gardens with hedges and flower beds rolling down to a huge lake. A little rowboat is bobbing in the water beside a dock. Down to my right is a tennis court and, nearby, a volleyball net. I can deal with this! The place is like a resort! A private room, a lake, a tennis court, and all I have to do is play with two eccentric kids. And I’m going to get paid for it. Two hundred dollars a week!

I had my own closet, nestled under the eaves of the pointed roof. It had been swept out, and inside there were hangers and a small chest of drawers. I lined up the ridiculous number of sneakers and shoes I’d brought, in a neat row. I hung up my hoodies and folded away my socks and jeans and T-shirts. I knew that no one would go through my things, but still, I don’t know why—paranoid, I guess—I put my video games underneath my shirts and socks.

I was feeling chill, pretty squared away, and I sat down at the desk and wrote most of this letter to you. There was so much I had to say. After a while I got up and looked around the room. Most of the paintings on the walls were of the island or the sea. One painting was of the Dark House before it went dark. The house was a pale pigeon gray, but it still looked creepy. The sky behind it was blue, and you could tell that the artist had really tried his best to make the place seem cheerful, but it still looked like a haunted house.

Jim Crackstone had made quite a big deal about how many books they had in the house. But I hadn’t noticed any on my way here. So obviously, there were parts of the huge house that I hadn’t yet seen. Anyhow, there are books in my room. Two long shelves line one wall. I have to kneel down to read the titles. Nearly all of the volumes are old, and many are slightly dusty. Maybe dusting the books was what killed off Linda’s old vacuum cleaner. There are books about geography and old-fashioned adventure books for kids, books about the Roman Empire, novels, gardening books. I didn’t think they’d been chosen especially for me. I picture Linda scooping up armfuls of random books and bringing them up to my room. Like more furniture, in a way.

I ran my finger along the spines of the books until one of them stopped me. That was actually how it felt, as if the book exerted a force that magnetically pulled my hand toward it. It was newer than the rest of the books, though the design was supposed to look vintage. It had an odd shape, thinner and narrower than a normal book. The cover was pale yellow cloth, stenciled with a bouquet of roses and, for some reason, a lighthouse.

The title was
Great Love Poems
. I opened it to the first page. Someone had written an inscription in brown ink, in old-fashioned calligraphy with thick letters and lots of curlicues.

From Romeo to Juliet. With all my love.

I thought of the blind man and his wife. That’s what they’d called the couple who’d tried to escape and drowned. Romeo and Juliet. Linda had mentioned them, too. They’d all said that the drowning had happened in the 1920s.

I looked to see when the poetry book had been published.

1989.

Well, I suppose there must have been more than one Romeo and Juliet on Crackstone’s Landing. Probably every couple thinks of themselves that way, especially when their parents aren’t exactly crazy about the idea of their being together. Like you and me, Sophie.

Maybe some guy who stayed in the house for a while gave the book to his wife for her birthday and was trying to be all corny and romantic. I guess it didn’t work out all that well if Juliet forgot the book when she left.

I put the book away and finished this letter to you. Then I lay down on my bed. The mattress was comfortable, and the sheets smelled clean and sweet. I shut my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, I heard Linda calling me to come downstairs for dinner. Then I closed my eyes again. I heard a gentle tap on the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” said Miles.

“Dinner’s ready,” said Flora.

“I think I’m going to sleep through it,” I said. I knew I should probably eat something. Since breakfast with my dad, I’d only had that sandwich Linda made. And it had been a long day. It seemed like years had passed since my dad and I had eggs and hash browns and toast in a diner near the docks. But even though my stomach was growling, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open. I slept through the night.

I dreamed I was on the boat again, and the seagull was still shrieking. Only this time it seemed to be screaming Lucy Lucy Lucy....

I remember waking up and thinking, I don’t know anyone named Lucy. The dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. I heard seagulls, real ones. Then I fell back asleep.

I’ll write again tomorrow. Meanwhile, sweet dreams.

Love,

Jack

DEAR DAD,

You’d like it here. The house is really nice, but to be honest, it could use a lot of work, and you’d be the perfect guy for the job. I’m just getting to know the kids. They’re very polite and nice, and I think it’s going to be fine. But they’re still a little shy around me. So far. I’m sure they’ll warm up when we get to know each other better. I’ll write more when I get more time. I’m still sort of tired from the trip yesterday.

Love,

Jack

DEAR SOPHIE,

My first morning on the island was warm and sunny. The ocean light makes you feel like … it’s hard to explain. Like everything is transparent, like you not only see everything clearly but you can almost see through everything. Like I said, it’s hard to explain. Through my windows I heard the cries of the seagulls, and now they sounded very different than they did on the ferry, when I had that stupid hallucination about the bird calling my name. In the morning, the birds sounded cheerful, and their voices filled me with energy. Almost as if I was flying, too. Isn’t it amazing how different everything looks in the morning? The house no longer seemed creepy, and when I thought about the children, I remembered how pretty they are, and I couldn’t understand why I’d imagined they were little vampires keeping all sorts of horrible secrets.

The smell of coffee found its way up to my room in the attic. I got dressed and followed it down to the kitchen. The halls seemed a lot brighter than they had the afternoon before. I passed the room with the pool table and also several huge rooms I would have noticed if I’d seen them, so I figured the doors must have been closed yesterday. Maybe they had been locked, but now someone had unlocked them.

Except for that one room where the corridor had dead-ended and the kids had tried the door and then exchanged those funny glances. I passed it on the way to breakfast, and—I couldn’t help rattling the doorknob—it was still locked. Probably Linda just forgot to unlock that one. Or maybe it was some kind of storeroom. But why had the kids tried to open it? I’ll find out sooner or later.

Anyhow, there were certainly enough rooms for me to check out now. One of them was the library, and I stopped in the doorway and looked at all the books and at the little rolling wooden staircase for reaching the highest shelves. Something about the beauty of the library and how many books there were made me feel really eager to read, and I couldn’t wait to get some free time so I could go back there and explore.

The kids were waiting for me in the kitchen. Maybe it was just the clothes they were wearing yesterday that had made them seem so odd and old-fashioned. Because today, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, they almost looked like regular kids.

Linda had made a huge platter of scrambled eggs and toast, and the kids were helping themselves and digging in. Linda heaped a plate with food and passed it to me down the table. A slight breeze in the window blew a crystal teardrop, which sprinkled rainbows all over the walls, and suddenly the whole scene seemed … normal. The two kids and Linda, who by now might as well have been their mom. And me, the babysitter whom their kindly uncle had hired and brought to this pretty island to hang out with them for the summer.

The kids were eager to show me around the grounds. Linda packed some sandwiches and a thermos full of orange juice and put them in a backpack, which Miles slid on, like any kid going off to school. And if the kids said, “Let’s go!” at the precise same moment, it seemed more like a coincidence than like a sign of some eerie telepathic communication.

We left through the tall front door, and when I walked onto the wraparound porch, the sight of the ocean and the lawns dotted with red poppies rolling down to the shore was so gorgeous that it seemed like the breath was being sucked out of my chest, and for a second I felt dizzy.

“Wow!” I said. The kids looked at me, puzzled. “It’s amazing.” I pointed at the sea.