The Mystery of the Cupboard Read Online Free PDF Page B

Corporal - now Sergeant - Fickits, the Royal Marine who had helped them defeat the skinhead gang who had broken into Omri’s old house…
    They were so real! So much a part of Omri’s life… It was hard to keep his vow to do without them, to eschew the magic. But he must. Because it could be dangerous. The storm that had wrecked half of England had been brought by them, with the key. People had been killed… in the present, and in the past. It was frightening. It was too much to handle.
    And now —
A Wonder Unacceptable to the Rational Mind…
    Omri gave a little shiver, half fear, half excitement, and slept. He dreamed of riding with Little Bull through the hills and forests of his homeland. Awake and asleep, he often dreamed of him, but this was particularly vivid and the ridewas magical and wonderful. It seemed as if Little Bull were teaching him to ride, and at the same time, as if they were searching for something. Some treasure.
    He meant to wake up early — at dawn — and read the notebook, but of course he slept in. There was no time, none at all. He hid the notebook behind some books and went down to breakfast.
    At the table he asked, as casually as he could, “Mum, what relative of ours exactly was the old man who owned this house?”
    â€œAh. Now you’re asking…” She paused with the cereal package poised, her brow wrinkling. “Let me see. Well, his name was Frederick, which is a bit of a family name on my side. He was a bachelor. And very old indeed — about eighty-five. I
think
he was — wait for it — my grandmother’s younger sister’s son. Yes, that’s it, I remember now. I never knew him or had any connection with him.”
    â€œWhat was his last name?” asked Omri, frowning.
    â€œAn Irish name — it’s slipped my mind for the moment.”
    â€œHow come you didn’t know him if he was your cousin?”
    â€œWell, that’s a story. My grandmother, who brought me up after Mummy died, didn’t see her sister for some reason, though when I was little she talked about her sometimes, in a - a sort of
head-shaking
way, as if she loved her a lot but felt she shouldn’t. Of course I found that intriguing and asked lots of questions about her, butmy granny just said, ‘Well, we were sisters, but I have to say it: she was no better than she should be’.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œShe had a Past. You weren’t supposed to have a Past in those days. Something scandalous to do with men…”
    Omri digested this. Then he asked slowly, “Could she have been living here — your granny’s sister?”
    His mother looked at him. “She was supposed to have gone abroad… But what an intriguing idea, Omri! I never thought of that. Maybe old Frederick inherited this house from his mother, who was my wicked great-aunt Jessica Charlotte!”
    Omri put down his spoon. There was some saying he’d always thought very silly, about a goose walking over your grave. But suddenly he understood it because the bumpy flesh all over his arms had the chill feeling of death.
    â€œWas she really wicked?” he asked after a moment.
    â€œI’ve no idea. She was some kind of actress back around the time of the First World War. Going on the stage in those days was considered fairly wicked by some people. But I’m sure there was more to it than that. Now darling, enough questions, it’s ten to nine. Go.”
    Omri didn’t think about Kitsa more than half a dozen times that day. Nor did he give too much attention to lessons, and the Butcher had occasion to send him to the Tea Cosy, who gave him what-for without too much care for his feelings and added injury to insult with adetention. Murphy’s law in action, he thought furiously. If anything can go wrong, it will, and at the worst possible time. He was absolutely dying to get home.
    By the time