“Yes, well, can we sit down and have a chat?”
Max led Mrs. Millen to the dining room. She politely declined when he offered to carry her suitcase, leaning heavily on her cane as she swung it along. With a grateful sigh, she settled into a chair, sending up a waft of perfume. She smiled and removed her glasses to massage red, puffy eyes as Max took a seat across from her.
“Well, before we begin…might I have the pleasure of meeting your parents? Are they at home?”
“My dad’s out on business.”
“I see,” she said. “And your mother?”
Max glanced at an old photo of the McDaniels family propped on the buffet.
“She’s not home, either.”
“Well, that certainly makes my job a bit easier,” she said. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave Max a little wink.
“How do you mean?” Max frowned, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at her suitcase, puzzled by the long, shallow scratches that scored its side.
“Oh, well, parents are often very set in their ways. For example, most parents can’t really understand strange events at the Art Institute, now, can they?”
Max smiled.
“You did have quite a day yesterday, didn’t you, Max?”
“Yeah—I mean yes. Yes, I did.”
“And tell me, what was so special about it?”
“Well, I saw lots of weird things,” Max said with a shrug. “I found a room—a room I couldn’t find again after I’d left it. While I was in the room, I saw a tapestry.”
Mrs. Millen nodded, tapping her finger against the table’s smooth, shiny surface.
“Was it pretty?” she asked. “Was it a pretty tapestry?”
“Not at first.”
Her finger froze in mid-tap.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It was ugly,” Max whispered. But then he paused. His experience now seemed very personal. He was hesitant to share it with her.
“Yes?” Mrs. Millen said. “It was ugly? An old, ratty tapestry? Go on, dear…. I know it seems secret and silly, but it’s all right to share it with me. Believe me, Max, you’ll feel better if you do.”
She smiled and leaned forward expectantly. Max suddenly felt sleepy.
“It started to glow,” Max said slowly, tracing the table’s grain with his finger. “There were words and pictures and music.”
“And what were those words, Max? Tell me, what pictures did you see?”
She spoke in hushed, urgent tones. Max felt his neck begin to itch; he paused to look at her closely.
Her face was round and strangely taut. Although her smile stayed fixed, her pupils began to dilate. Max was fascinated by them as they grew. They reminded him of a polar bear he had once seen at the zoo. He had never forgotten the way its flat, black eyes had followed him hungrily from across the protective barrier.
Max blinked in alarm.
There was no barrier here.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” he muttered.
“Yes, yes, certainly. But first, tell me what you saw in the tapestry!”
“Maybe we should talk when my dad gets home.”
Mrs. Millen’s eyes widened with surprise. The chair creaked under her shifting weight, and she sniffed suddenly as though she had a cold. Several long seconds passed as they studied each other. Then a sly smile crept across her face as though they had just shared a secret.
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” she chuckled. “You are a cautious one, Max! You are one cautious, bright little boy! You just might be the one we want.”
Sweat broke out on Max’s forehead; his throat itched. He glanced at her cane, realizing he could run. No one had ever been able to catch him when he ran, and Mrs. Millen was old.
“I think you should go now,” he said. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Of course, my dear…”
The woman pushed back from the table.
“…but you’re coming with me!”
The smile never left her lips as her hand shot across the table to seize Max’s wrist. Max yelped and shot backward, squirming painfully out of her astonishingly strong grasp and falling off his chair. At the same time, Max heard something crash upstairs in his room. Heavy footsteps were coming down the stairs.
Someone else was in the house.
Max scrambled to his feet and bolted for the back door. With a dreadful shock, he realized that the old woman needed no cane as she rounded the table and raced after him.
Fleeing into the backyard, Max made for the big pine fort. He fumbled at the rusted latch, pushing the door open and hurrying inside. He tried to slam the door shut just as Mrs. Millen crouched to barrel in after him—but she managed to wedge her arm inside, twisting it wildly about.
Max gave the door a great push with his shoulder, and Mrs. Millen shrieked and withdrew her arm. He slammed the door shut and slid its crossbeam into place.
Leaning his back against the door, he waited.
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” she cackled. “Not so wise and cautious after all! Our little one was quick, but he has made a poor choice, indeed….”
Max heard her nails dragging along the fort’s walls as she slowly circled its perimeter. She paused to tap at its narrow windows. Max gulped down his fear and tried to think. He could yell for help, but his house was at the end of a quiet street, and his neighbors worked during the day. As he heard her near the fort’s back wall, Max decided to make a run for it.
Just as he reached for the crossbeam, however, it dissolved into a pile of gray ash.
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!”
The door flew open, and Mrs. Millen snatched the front of Max’s shirt. He gave a yell and jammed the heel of his hand into her nose. She cursed and recoiled, losing her grip on him. Backpedaling furiously, Max slammed into the opposite wall and started scrambling up the small ladder that led to the fort’s roof. Max heard her muttering a few feet below him as he climbed. When he glanced down, he saw that she was standing on the lowest rung. Her ringed fingers clawed for his ankle.
“Stop right there, Max! Astaroth!”
At that moment, Max felt an icy numbness in his right leg. Straining, he climbed up and through the hatch and waited a moment, slamming the door down hard on the woman’s head as she scrabbled up after him. His leg almost completely numb, Max dragged himself toward the roof ’s edge. Glancing back, he saw Mrs. Millen emerge through the hatch. Squeezing her bulk through, she crawled after him on all fours like an animal.
Max shut his eyes and rolled over the edge.
He fell with a hard, wheezing thud onto the lawn. Stunned, he opened his eyes to see her peering down at him from the fort’s roof ten feet above.
“Don’t you touch him,” she panted, glaring in the direction of the house. “This little scrapper’s mine!”
Max wildly scanned the house and yard but saw no one else. Then he realized Mrs. Millen’s head had vanished. He heard the trapdoor clatter shut as she began her descent.
Moaning, Max struggled to his feet. His leg threatened to collapse beneath him as he rounded the side of the house, but he managed to limp up the driveway toward the street. Turning, he saw Mrs. Millen galloping after him.
Rounding the corner to the front yard, Max collided with a man, who let out a groan and dropped his briefcase. Max screamed, shut his eyes, and began fiercely pummeling him.
“Hey there! Ouch! Stop hitting me!” the man exclaimed, taking firm hold of Max’s arms. Max whipped around, expecting Mrs. Millen to come barreling around the house. She did not.
“Are you all right, my boy?” the man asked in a subdued British accent.
Max felt the grip on his arms relax. He turned and looked up at the person before him. It was not the white-eyed stranger from the museum. Tall and impeccably dressed in a navy suit, this man had sandy hair, a high forehead, and wire glasses. He gave a nervous smile and eyed Max’s hard, trembling fists.
“Was she talking to you?” Max demanded.
“Excuse me—who?”
Max collapsed before he could find the words.