100 Cupboards Read Online Free PDF Page A

ask.”
    â€œShhh,” Penelope said.
    â€œWho locked Grandfather’s room?” Henry asked.
    â€œMom thinks it isn’t locked, just broken,” Penelope said. The other girls nodded. “Dad says old doors do funny things.”
    â€œHow long has it been broken?”
    â€œSince Grandfather died,” Penelope said. “Two years ago.”
    â€œIt’s been locked for two years?” Henry asked.
    Penelope nodded.
    â€œAnd no one has been in there since?” Henry climbed to his feet. He opened the girls’ door and stepped onto the landing. “That’s the one, right?” He was whispering.
    â€œYeah,” Henrietta said.
    Henry walked slowly down the landing, past Frank and Dotty’s room, and past the bathroom. The girls, all silent, watched him. The door to Grandfather’s room looked old but normal enough. The stained brass handle drooped. Henry put out his hand, then stopped. His eyes weren’t focused on what was in front of him. They were straining at an image in his head. A short old man. Was he purple? Dressed in purple? In a purple dress? A short old man in a purple robe was watching him play baseball.
    â€œSee? Watch.” Henry jumped at Henrietta’s voice in his ear. She jiggled the handle. “Now c’mon. Let’s go do something.”
    â€œI don’t want to play Monopoly or pirates,” Anastasia said.
    â€œFine,” Penelope said. “Hopscotch Cannibals. I’ll even play with you kids for a bit.” She looked at Henry.
    â€œThey do it in the barn.”
    â€œLike you’re so old,” Anastasia said. She turned to Henry. “She
invented
Hopscotch Cannibals.”
    Penelope started down the stairs. “When I was little,” she said.
    â€œWere you little last summer?” Henrietta asked.
    The three girls disappeared as they descended. For a moment, Henry stood looking at Grandfather’s door.
    â€œHenry?” Anastasia yelled. And Henry followed them.
    Â 
    Henry tried to play. And while he enjoyed being up in the barn and jumping around and watching the dust fly, the game was a little embarrassing. He was not above make-believe, he just usually did it by himself in his room.
    So Henry left the girls, descended the ladder, and wandered over to the house and inside. He borrowed a tattered old book from Uncle Frank titled
Up Periscope
and climbed the flights of stairs to his room in the attic, glancing at Grandfather’s room as he went. The sun was not long down, and he sat on his bed looking out his doors, across the length of the attic, and out the round window at a few of the flickering, halfhearted, or malfunctioning streetlights in Henry, Kansas. After a while, he shut his doors, leaned back on his bed wondering what sort of book Frank had given him, and fell asleep with his light on.

    Henry jerked awake and squinted in the light. At first, he wasn’t sure why he was awake. He didn’t need to use the bathroom, his arms weren’t asleep, and he wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t have been sleeping long.
    He sat up. A piece of plaster rolled down his forehead, bounced on the tip of his nose, and landed on his chest. He ran one hand through his hair, and more bits of his wall dropped onto his lap. He looked up.
    Above him, two small knobs protruded from the plaster of his wall. One of the knobs was turning, very slightly. A small scraping noise grew until a final thump rained fine plaster dust down on Henry and his bed.
    For a few minutes, Henry simply stared—holding his breath, breathing heavily, and then holding it again. The knobs were so perfectly still that he began to wonder if one had actually moved. He had been sleeping. He could have dreamed it.
    I didn’t dream it, he told himself. They’re right there, sticking through my wall. Henry knew what was on the other side of the wall—absolutely nothing. One floor down, the girls’ window