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Heart pounding, he sat up and looked around, half expecting a
crowd of woodmen to surround and capture him. But there were
no woodmen.
Sàere was only a ramp that led up inside the lighthouse. Billy
stood and slowly walked up the incline. Sàe inside of the light-
house was hollow. Of course. But the ramp wound upward in a
spiral, around the inner walls. Sàere were no stairs.
Walking forward, he could see up the middle of the light-
house. Cables and thick wires hung down from somewhere high
above. Black liquid probably oil dripped down, spattering
onto the wide black stain covering most of the floor. Sàe spiraling
ramp continued up, around and around, all the way to the top.
Pausing for a moment to look behind him, giving his brain one
last chance to talk him out of it, Billy started up.
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Krandall, sitting at the end of the closet next to the hole, with
the rope held loosely in one hand, drifted off into a deep and com-
fortable sleep. He dreamed that he was riding on a horse, good
old Bayard no less, in the wide-open fields of the Great Plains,
under a warm and brilliant sun that hung in the wide blue ocean
of the sky. Sàe free wind blew over him, carrying with it the smell
of mothballs and cedar. Articles of clothing floated by on the
wind: there was the Grand Duchess s miniskirt, short as ever, and
Bram Stoker s garlic-scented turtleneck, the little yellow sweater
belonging to Queen Mary Stuart s Skye terrier dog, that rascal,
and Prince Vseslav s wolfskin tunic. Sàere was the flowery, purple
blouse worn once and only once by Rasputin on the day he almost
lost the respect of the royal family. Sàe blouse seemed to wave at
Krandall as the wind carried it across the rolling fields.
 Sàere you are, you devil! Krandall said. Sàat blouse had
been lost for years; he had almost forgotten all about it. His legs
twitched in his sleep as he spurred his horse on. Slumping on his
side, head pressed against the wall of the closet, a string of drool
ran from the corner of his mouth.
Brad Gallagher
Out in the hallway Uncle Gary pounded on the door again
and listened.
 Nothing, he said.  I wonder if he climbed down to get Billy.
If that s what he did, we could really be in trouble. I don t know
how they d ever get back up.
 We have to do something, said Sophie, lines of worry etched
across her youthful face.  We can t just sit here.
 I just don t know, Uncle Gary said.  Even my tools are in there.
I d try to take the whole door off its hinges if I had my tool box.
 Can we find something in one of these drawers? Chris asked.
 Maybe a big rock or something. And smash the door down?
Uncle Gary shook his head.
 Sàis whole section is mostly clothing. And I m not going
anywhere and leaving you guys alone again. I want to be here in
case something happens. With his fist, Uncle Gary pounded on
the door so hard it rattled in its frame.
 Krandall! Can you hear me! Kraaannndallll!
Rasputin s blouse was calling him onward waving and calling
his name. Taunting him. Grinning, he nudged his horse again
and went after it. Swinging his lasso over his head he flung it out,
hoping to loop it over the shirt so he could pull it in. But the shirt
was too quick and darted away over the next hill. Krandall went
after it.
 You get back here, you silly shirt!
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The long walk up the incline seemed to go on forever. Billy stud-
ied the inside of the lighthouse as he went: how the walls and the
ramp all seemed to be carved out of a single massive piece of
wood. He wondered if that were actually possible. Did trees grow
that big? Even if they did he had no idea how someone could hol-
low it out like this, leaving only the spiral ramp inside.
At first Billy looked in wonder at the amazing patterns of the
wood grain that moved past him, the endless variety of waves and
swirls and patterns and shapes. He saw faces in the wood along
with animals and boats and all kinds of intricate objects and
scenes. Sàe wood grain almost seemed to be telling a story, as one
object or scene led into another in ways that actually began to
make a strange kind of sense to him.
By the time he neared the top, Billy no longer cared about
any of it. Exhaustion had taken over. Even his fear over what was
in store for him was completely overwhelmed. His breathing
sounded like a saw cutting wood as it wheezed in and out of his
chest, and all he could do was stare down at the ramp before him
and keep trudging forward.
Brad Gallagher
Suddenly the foghorn sounded again, vibrating the entire
lighthouse. Billy was startled out of his trance. Looking up he re-
alized he was almost there. Sàe ramp ended in another doorless,
arched opening. Sàe sound of the foghorn echoed down the in-
side of the lighthouse, ricocheted off the bottom and came back
up, reverberating and crashing into itself, sending sound waves
bouncing in every direction.
Billy was overcome by a sudden dizziness. Sàe lighthouse
seemed to be swaying back and forth, tipping and pitching like a
ship on rolling waves. He was almost thrown off balance. Catching
a glimpse over the edge of the ramp, he saw the hollow middle of
the lighthouse stretching down below him like a deep, waterless well.
Collapsing onto his hands and knees, he crawled away from
the edge and pressed himself against the wall. He broke into a
sweat, feeling waves of nausea and vertigo wash over him. Closing
his eyes, he took deep, slow breaths, trying to calm himself.
After several moments the foghorn stopped. Billy sat with his
eyes closed for another minute, listening to the hanging cables clank-
ing against each other. Finally he ventured a look up the ramp again.
Sàe doorway to the top of the lighthouse was only a few feet [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]