It's All Downhill from Here (5 page)

“So I got out of bed and followed the voice downstairs. I saw an old man—the same old man I saw in the window when we arrived here. He opened the front door and stepped outside. I followed him out into a blizzard. I was superscared.

“I couldn't see a thing, so I decided to come back in, but the door was locked and I was stuck outside. That's when I woke up.”

“Sounds really scary, Mags,” Sophie said as they reached the library door at the end of the hall.

“But what happened after I woke up was even scarier,” Maggie said. “That's what I need to show you. Come on.”

She opened the door, and the two friends stepped into the library for the first time in the daylight. They saw a serious-looking room of dark wooden shelves filled with dust-covered books. Plushy upholstered chairs sat in each corner accompanied by a stained-glass floor lamp.

Maggie imagined spending a rainy Saturday afternoon curled up in one of those chairs with a good book
and got a warm feeling for the first time since she'd arrived. Then she remembered all that had been going on since last night, and the warm feeling was replaced by the ever-more-familiar knot in her stomach.

“So last night, after I woke up, I came back to this room,” she continued. “I knew what I saw with that candle, and I knew there had to be a logical explanation. I found it right there.”

Maggie led Sophie over to the wood panel on the far wall. She grabbed the square wooden knob.

“A secret passageway leading to a hidden room!”

“No way!” said Sophie.

“Way! Watch.”

Maggie tried to turn the knob, which had moved so easily during the night. But this time, the knob didn't budge.

“Wait a minute,” she said, now gripping the knob with both hands. Again, it stood firm. “I swear, Soph, this knob turned last night. Then that panel slid open, and I walked down a secret passageway.”

“Maybe you were still dreaming?” Sophie suggested. “You said the dream about being trapped outside felt so real. Maybe you didn't wake up and get out of bed.
Maybe you only dreamed that you did.”

Maggie searched her memory, replaying the events of the dream and what had followed once she woke up—or at least, thought she woke up. Could the whole thing have been a dream?

“Why don't we check out the rest of the house, Mags?” Sophie asked, seeing her friend struggling to figure out what had happened to her.

Maggie fought off her disappointment. She didn't want to be mad at Sophie, her only ally in this miserable situation. And she realized that if the situation were reversed, she'd be having a lot of trouble believing Sophie.

“Sure,” she said. “Let's go.”

Heading back down the hallway, they stopped at a door on the left. “Good as any,” Sophie said, throwing it open.

The two stepped into what appeared to be a small storage room. A startled spider scurried up its web, vanishing into a hole in the ceiling. Boxes and suitcases were piled in tall stacks. On a small table in the center of the room sat a pile of old photographs.

Maggie thumbed through the curling brown photos of people who'd lived long ago.

“Look at this one,” she said, handing it to Sophie.
It was a shot of a man standing outside the Wharton Mansion holding a pair of skis.

“Is this the guy you saw in the window and in your dream?” Sophie asked, trying to be supportive of her friend.

“I'm not sure. It looks a bit like him, but . . .” Maggie suddenly recalled the paintings she had seen in the secret room. “No. It's not him. It's Samuel Wharton!”

“Who?” Sophie asked.

“I have no idea,” Maggie replied. “But I saw portraits of him hanging in that secret room.”

After flipping through the rest of the photos, none of which provided any insight into what had happened during the night, Maggie and Sophie continued their exploration of the house. Mostly they saw old rooms in disrepair, lots of cobwebs, a whole bunch of spiders, and a mouse or two.

None of this impressed Maggie or made her feel any happier about the prospect of living in this house. After a couple of hours more of exploring, Maggie heard the front door open, and an argument in progress entered the house.

“But you know I'm an excellent skier. I can take care of myself!”

“Simon, there are whiteout conditions out there,” Maggie heard her dad say as she and Sophie joined the now-frozen members of her family. “That's why we came in.”

“Hey, how was your outdoor tour?” Maggie asked, glad that she would not be the only one to argue with her parents this weekend.

“The grounds are really beautiful,” Mrs. Kim said, shaking the snow off her down jacket and hood. “But the snow picked up a few minutes ago, and it's really nasty out there.”

“How did the skiing look, Simon?” Sophie asked.

“Great. Big mountain. Perfect slopes. Everyone else in the world will get to ski here except me.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Simon,” Maggie said. “I'm sure you'll be able to ski when it's safe.”

“But it's safe now,” Simon whined. “I've skied in way worse weather.”

“End of discussion,” Mr. Kim said. “Now let's see if we can get that old fireplace going.”

Mr. Kim managed to start a fire in the fireplace. The whole family gathered around and read, played board games, or napped for the remainder of the afternoon.

Dinner that night was very different from the cold Chinese food of the night before. Mrs. Kim made spaghetti and a vat of homemade sauce and a big salad. The fire blazed, and everyone dug into their dinners.

As delicious as the dinner was and as cozy as the house felt, Maggie couldn't help but feel scared.
What's going to happen tonight?
she wondered.

“Maybe I can go skiing tomorrow?” Simon asked during a lull in dinner conversation.

“We'll see,” Mrs. Kim said. “Let's see what tomorrow brings weather-wise.”

Maggie twirled a mass of spaghetti around her fork and shoveled it into her mouth. She was hungrier than she'd realized.

Then, looking up from her plate, Maggie saw a face peering around the corner from the hallway, staring into the dining room, looking right at her.

“Ahhhhh!” she shrieked in terror.

Maggie jumped up from the table, knocking her chair over backward. She pointed toward the hallway. Everyone in the dining room turned. This time, they all saw the face—the face of an old woman with careworn eyes sunk into deeply etched skin.

The woman stepped into the dining room.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking as startled to see the Kims as they were to see her. “I didn't know that anyone was in the house.”

“Who—who are you?” sputtered Mr. Kim.

“I am Karina Walcott,” the old woman replied. Her heavy winter coat was covered in snow. “I have been the caretaker here at the Wharton Mansion for many years. I moved here from back east twenty years ago and
worked for Mr. Wharton during that entire time, until he died that is. This is the first time I have been inside the house for a year.”

“Why are you here now?” Mr. Kim asked.

“When Mr. Wharton died, there was a dispute over the will and this house among two of his distant cousins,” Ms. Walcott explained. “I was rushed from the house before I had a chance to gather up the last of my possessions. The cousins changed the locks and refused to give me permission to enter until their dispute was settled.

“When this finally happened, only a few days ago, they agreed to give me a key so I could get my belongings and take them back to my apartment in Denver. So, that's why I'm here. And now, may I ask who
you
are?”

Mrs. Kim stepped forward. “We are the Kims. I'm Jeannie. This is my husband, Paul; our son, Simon; our daughter, Maggie; and Maggie's friend, Sophie. We're interested in buying the house.”

“How do you do?” Ms. Walcott asked, nodding toward the group and smiling. Her eyes brightened slightly, her face softened. “I must say they didn't waste any time showing the house to potential buyers. I understand that
the house was put on the market only a day or two ago.”

“That's right,” Mr. Kim said. “We were very lucky to be here the day this place became available.”

“We love it,” Mrs. Kim said enthusiastically. “It's got so much character.”

“That's one way to put it,” Maggie whispered to Sophie, who elbowed her friend to keep quiet. She stared at Ms. Walcott. “You said that you haven't been inside the house for a year?”

“That's right,” Ms. Walcott replied.

“Do you mean until this very second or since last night, maybe?” Maggie persisted.

“What do you mean?” Ms. Walcott said defensively. “I just walked through the door a moment ago for the first time in a year. I did not expect to see anyone else here.”

“Are you sure you weren't in the house last night?” Maggie asked, looking Ms. Walcott directly in the eye. “Perhaps lighting a candle or two?”

“Absolutely not,” Ms. Walcott said indignantly. She was clearly a woman who was not used to having her word questioned by a child. “I believe I made myself perfectly clear.”

“Yeah, well, someone has been in this house!” Maggie exclaimed. “I know it! I've seen the evidence.”

“That's impossible,” Ms. Walcott shot back. “There are only two keys, and we have both. All the other doors and windows are still locked, I presume?”

Mr. Kim nodded his head.

Maggie grew quiet, wondering whether she believed Ms. Walcott. It would explain a lot if she had been here last night. An awkward silence descended over the room.

“I'm sorry to be so rude,” Ms. Walcott said suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner. It's just that I wanted to get back here as soon as I could. This place means a great deal to me.”

“It's totally cool,” Simon spoke up. “Although I haven't been able to check out the skiing yet.”

Ms. Walcott's face grew visibly grim. “Skiing?” she asked.

“That mountain's gonna make for some killer runs,” Simon added.

“Young man, no one skis here,” Ms. Walcott said. There was a sternness to her voice that had not been there before. “Not for many years, at any rate.”

“Well, people will ski here now,” Simon shot back defiantly. “We're buying this mansion and turning it into a ski resort.”

Ms. Walcott's dark eyes narrowed, and her expression turned even graver, as if someone had just given her the worst news she had ever heard.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Walcott?” Mrs. Kim asked.

Ms. Walcott gazed into the distance, her thoughts clearly not in this moment. Then she spoke in a soft, even voice.

“This house was built in 1910 by Ernest Wharton, the patriarch of a successful banking family. They lived in a mansion in Denver, but Mr. Wharton wanted a country getaway. And he loved to ski. The family spent winters here. This mansion not only served to house Mr. Wharton's family, it allowed for their large extended family to come and go as they pleased. And it was also their private skiing grounds.

“But for the past forty years, the only person who lived here was the youngest Wharton son, the last member of the once large family, Jonas Wharton.”

“Jonas?” Maggie said. “
He
was Old Man Wharton? Then who's Samuel Wharton?”

“Samuel?” Ms. Walcott asked. “I don't know. As far as I know, there was no Samuel in the Wharton family. And Jonas never spoke of a Samuel.”

Maggie considered mentioning the portrait of Samuel Wharton she had seen in the secret passageway, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed now was to try and open the passageway only to have the knob not turn yet again.

“Jonas did come to be known as Old Man Wharton,” Ms. Walcott continued. “He died about a year ago at age one hundred and two. I don't think he ever believed he would actually die. While he was alive, Mr. Wharton became more and more reclusive, and by the end of his life I was the only person who ever saw him. And while I worked here, I barely ever went into town.”

“Interesting,” Mr. Kim said. “Nice to know some of the history of this house.”

“There is one more thing,” Ms. Walcott continued. “Mr. Wharton's final wish was that his house never get turned into a ski lodge, and that no one ever go skiing here under any circumstances. I know he wrote it into his will, but his cousins must be ignoring it.”

“Fat chance of that,” Simon mumbled under his breath.

“Do you know why, Ms. Walcott?” Mrs. Kim asked.

“I don't know many of the details. I asked Jonas why once, and he got very angry. He refused to answer me and disappeared for a few days. What I do know is that there was some deeply tragic incident that led to Jonas closing down the slopes and vowing that no one would ever ski here again.”

“This is the first time we're hearing about such a request,” Mr. Kim explained. “Our understanding from the realtor is that the family is eager to sell, and they don't really care what becomes of the place.”