"Good. Just wanted to know what to expect."

"When will you need him, Iris?" Mom asks again.

Iris brings the teacup to her mouth and takes a long time to sip it. Then she sets it back down and looks at us. Her hazel eyes are a bit unsettling in their steady stare, as solid as super glue.

"This Saturday, to start. Eight in the morning will do."

"That's fine. And for how long?" Mom asks.

"As long as it takes."

I wonder if I get a say in any of this.

"And what will he be doing?"

"Tara, you must understand. This inn is a special place for special people. It's hard to get to for a reason. It is a place to rest. A place to hide. We have unique guests here who sometimes want to be left alone and sometimes need tending to. My job is to do whatever is required of me. And I need someone to do what is required of him."

I glance at my mom to see if she is as confused as I am.

Thanks, Mom. Great job choice. It's going to be nice when Iris "requires" my left thumb for her creepy experiments in her dungeon.

"Yes, I understand-we understand. It's just-any ideas to share so Chris knows what to bring or what your expectations are?"

"Chris already looks strong and fit. That's one thing. He seems to do a good job keeping quiet, which is another thing. Chris?"

"Yes?"

"Can you keep secrets?"

I want to laugh. This whole town is built on secrets. I'm carrying a backpack of them myself.

Yeah, I can keep freaking secrets.

"Yes," I say.

"What does that mean?" Mom asks.

"As I said, we have unique guests who stay here, Tara. And discretion is wise when it comes to them."

Mom sits on the edge of the seat and shakes her head. "When you say 'unique,' what do you mean?"

"You don't have to worry."

"Chris is respectful, if that's what you're going for."

"Respect and caution are two different animals," Iris says. "They're both wise for a place like this."

"I can keep my mouth shut, if that's what you're asking."

Iris seems surprised by my sudden answer. Yet I see a slight smile on her face.

And for some weird reason, I think of another smile. Another slight smile that popped up surprisingly. The first time I saw Jocelyn smile.

"I don't want to have to worry about my son being around strangers," Mom says.

"There is no need to worry. Chris will be safe and sound in this place. Nobody will harm him here."

I think of the bluebird and want to beg to disagree, but this time I keep my mouth shut.

"But Chris cannot bring guests to the inn. That is unequivocally forbidden. Is that understood?"

I nod. I'm doubting that Newt's going to want to come up and stay the night at this place anyway.

"Chris is a hard worker," Mom says.

"Then he will be able to earn the money. For Saturdays, I pay two hundred dollars."

What?

"Two hundred, for-is that for the day?" Mom sounds as shocked as I am.

Iris just nods, not even bothering to watch our expressions.

Judging by this place, where everything seems old and outdated, I can't see Iris having a lot of money.

Two hundred bucks for a day? Can I start now?

"We'll see how this first Saturday goes and proceed from there. How does that sound?"

"Great," I say.

Iris smiles again. Maybe she likes my outspoken nature. She gives me this look, and for a second I think I've got her wrong. She's not a crabby old woman. She's just- Careful?

My mom thanks her, and then Iris stands as if she's got other things to do than chitchat the day away. That's another difference between Iris and other old people, especially around here. Most of them have plenty of time to burn. Iris acts like she's got other duties to attend to.

I look down a hallway and wonder if anybody else is staying in the house. If someone "unique" is back there.

When we get outside, we hear rain falling above us onto the covering of trees. Even though it's winter, the trees are still dense enough to cover us.

"When did it start raining?" Mom asks. "The sky was clear when we came up here."

"This mountain never ceases to surprise me," Iris says. "The longer I'm up here the more accustomed I am to seeing anything."

"Do you go into town much?"

Iris merely shakes her head. Maybe that's what she needs me for, though she knows I don't have a license.

"I look forward to seeing you next Saturday, Chris. Be safe."

As we walk to the car, I scan the area and find it-the bluebird, surely the same one that bit me, perched on the edge of a limb not far from our car.

I watch it carefully before getting into the vehicle.

I think of Iris's last words to me.

Be safe.

I wonder exactly how she expects me to do that, and if she has any clue about the mess that's waiting for me off this mountaintop.

31. Below.

There's gotta be a way to get to it, if something's really there.

I'm searching the cabin, not that there's much to search. Mom is working tonight, and I have no big dates or parties to go to.

I plan to see once and for all if this house has a basement.

My hunt begins in the back of the cabin, in the laundry room. There's an old washer and dryer back here, probably installed when this house was built thirty-something years ago. I check them out, look behind them, see the mounds of dust and cobwebs, think it might be nice to clean those one day just for our health and well-being. There's a tube going out of the wall, but that's nothing unusual. I examine all parts of the wall and the floor. Not much to examine except faded paint and cracked tile and dirt and grime.

There's a small closet that I've never really noticed by the back door. A half closet for coats. Maybe this is an elevator.

And maybe Batman's going to come out and show you his hidden lair right under your house.

There are a few coats in here. A pretty cool hunting coat, another hip-looking denim jacket. I'm guessing these weren't installed with the washer and the dryer. Again I check out the walls and the floor. No type of door or opening or anything unusual. Just some dirty boots on the bottom of the floor.

I keep this up, going into the kitchen and inspecting each of the cabinets and the dishwasher and the back of the oven and all of that. Nothing. I look underneath the stairs that jut up right in front of the main door.

Nope.

I've been scouring the cabin for an hour and am starting to feel pretty stupid. Maybe there's an empty area below this floor that was never intended to be used. Or maybe there were never any voices or laughter in the middle of the night.

You heard them and you know it.

I check the only other room downstairs, my mother's. I move a dresser but find nothing. I move her bed but find nothing. For a minute I sit on the edge of the bed and listen. It's getting darker outside, and another storm is supposed to be coming.

There's still the bathroom.

Maybe the bathtub has a special button you push that allows you to be sucked down the drain like at some big water park.

You know it's sad when your own thoughts mock you.

I turn on the light and glance around. A tub, a toilet, and a sink. I might as well be thorough. I kneel and open the doors to the cabinet and look at the handful of towels and toiletries belonging to Mom.

There's nothing unusual.

I'm about to close it when something makes me pause.

Every cabinet I've seen has pretty much looked the same except for this one. I take out the towels and notice that the plumbing for the faucet is strangely warped, like it was built around something. It's bent and goes around the edge of the interior of the cabinet, allowing more space.

The thing that caught my eyes was the scuff marks. The scraped sides.

Then I see it.

No way.

I see the square outline of something-I don't know what. The back of the cabinet is the same color as the rest, but the four sides of it look- Detachable.

I nudge it. Then nudge it a little harder. There's nothing behind it.

After a few tries, I shove it hard with my palm.

This time a portion of the drywall gives.

This isn't drywall. It's a door of some kind.

Right now I know that maybe I should call Mom or call somebody, but I doubt that anybody can help me.

I insert my hand into the opening and feel the cold.

For a minute I think. But it's not a very long minute.

I run out of the bathroom to find a flashlight.

And maybe something else.

Something for protection.

The knife belongs to Uncle Robert, just like the gun I found in the same duffel bag. The gun is lost somewhere on the side of a mountain close to the place Jocelyn died. I think about that gun and what I should've done with it. What I could have done. Instead, in my grief and terror, I dropped it.

One of the ten thousand things I regret.

The knife is a folding kind, but that doesn't mean it has a small blade. This is the kind you can cut a deer open with. I touched the blade once and felt it cut my skin. It's that sharp.

The knife is in my pocket. I'm wearing a sweatshirt because-because to be honest, I have no idea where I'm going to go after I slip through this opening. Maybe I'm going to find something like the hatch from Lost. Or maybe it's going to be an alternative universe like Donnie Darko, because really, I'm dead. I died on that hill just like Jocelyn. Or maybe I'm going to see a white rabbit and follow it and end up finding Johnny Depp smiling below, wondering what took me so long.

I'm a product of the culture, or at least I used to be. Now I really do feel like I'm in a time warp, an alternative universe, a black nightmare.

I've pushed away the covering to the back of the cabinet and am about ready to climb in through the narrow enclosure when I hear Midnight barking. Her bark is more like a little cough. She never does this, so I go out to the main room to see what's wrong.

Midnight is on the couch, just barking. I pet her for a few minutes and tell her that everything's fine. Maybe she can feel my fear. Or maybe she smells something coming through that opening.

Yeah, like the smell of death.