‘Huh?’
He poked his head back though the hatch.
‘Come on up and I’ll show you.’
Merry muttered under her breath, but she climbed the rest of the ladder and came to stand next to him, hastily brushing a cobweb off her pyjamas. It was years since either of them had been up here. The attic – really a whole bunch of attics connected by odd steps up and down – was huge, and just as well. Mum was a chronic hoarder; she never threw anything away, on the basis that ‘it might come in handy someday.’ Or alternatively, ‘this is bound to be worth something eventually.’ After sixteen years the attic was crammed with cardboard boxes of various sizes, old pieces of furniture and artwork, unidentifiable things draped in sheets. It would be a tight squeeze for even the smallest burglar. Leo and Merry manoeuvred their way through the dust and detritus. The knocking was getting more frequent, more insistent.
‘What the hell is it?’ Merry asked.
‘I don’t know, but it’s coming from over there.’ He waved a hand towards the corner, where a dark oak chest had been wedged between a broken armchair and an old-fashioned sewing machine table.
The two of them went over to the chest and carefully lifted Merry’s old doll’s house and a stack of commemorative issues of the Radio Times off the top of it. Something inside was banging noisily against the wooden frame.
‘Right,’ said Leo. ‘You open it.’
‘How about you open it and I stand over there at a safe distance and watch you?’
Leo sighed.
‘No, you need to open it. Then, if anything jumps out, I’ll hit it with the bat.’ He waved the bat around a bit, to demonstrate.
Merry shuddered and stepped away from the chest.
‘But what’s going to jump out?’
‘Oh, for – something less annoying than you, hopefully. How on earth should I know? Just open it.’
‘Ugh, fine. After three, OK?’ Merry counted; she got to three, lifted the lid and leapt back quickly.
Nothing jumped out at them. Merry gave a little ‘oh’ of relief and surprise and went to peer inside. Leo came and craned over her shoulder. The chest was empty, apart from a pile of children’s picture books and a seven-sided wooden box, tucked away in the corner.
The box was twitching.
As they stared at it, the twitching got worse. The box started slamming against the side of the chest again.
‘What is it?’ Leo asked.
‘Er, it’s a jewellery box?’
‘Yes, so I can see. But why is it doing that?’
‘How on earth should I know?’ Merry scowled, then turned away and started fiddling with the dials on an old record player sitting nearby, shaking her hair forwards so Leo couldn’t see her face.
Leo rolled his eyes.
‘Come on, Merry. This has got to have something to do with your lot.’
‘My lot?’ Merry swung round. ‘You know I’ve never been allowed to practise. You know I’m completely untrained.’
‘Seriously?’ Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Look, I also know you do stuff on the quiet. Or you used to, at any rate. You know I know. But I’m not going to tell on you to Mum. Just make it stop – jumping, will you? The noise is really starting to get on my nerves.’
‘I still don’t know what you expect me to do about it.’
‘Merry!’
‘OK, OK,’ Merry huffed. She reached down slowly, carefully, and picked up the jumping trinket box. It stilled immediately.
Merry looked up at Leo and smiled.
And then she fainted.
Merry must have been unconscious for all of about thirty seconds. But it was a really intense thirty seconds.
Something had come out of the trinket box. Not a physical something; more a sudden swell of energy, running like electricity up her arms and into her chest. Then everything had gone dark.
And out of the darkness came images. A pair of large oak doors set into the middle of a stone wall that seemed to reach up to the sky and beyond. An endless, winding corridor dimly lit with candles. A chair – no, a throne of some sort – near to a wall lined with shelves, shelves crammed with hundreds of faintly glowing glass jars. And a boy chained to the throne, a blood-red crown upon his head. It was the boy from her nightmares. Merry could hear him struggling for breath, and she thought for a moment he was unconscious. But his eyes focused, and she saw his lips move:
‘Help me …’
Merry opened her eyes.
Leo was kneeling over her, his face white and tense.
‘Merry? Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. I think so. Help me sit up.’
Leo put one arm underneath Merry’s back and slowly pushed her upright.
‘Here, lean against this.’ He pulled an old beanbag over and put it behind her. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m not sure. I – I saw things.’ She shuddered. ‘I saw him again.’
‘Him?’
‘The guy from my nightmares. But he wasn’t … killing people, this time. He was chained up somewhere – like, in some old, medieval castle.’
‘Jesus, Merry. What the hell’s going on?’
Merry breathed out slowly.
‘No idea. Where’s the box?’
‘You dropped it.’ Leo gestured towards where the box had fallen, lying on its side on the floor. At least it wasn’t moving any more.
‘Pass it over.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, after what just happened? Shouldn’t I be taking you to the hospital or something?’
‘I’m fine, Leo. Just give it to me.’
For once, Leo didn’t argue; he picked up the trinket box and handed it to her. There was no trace of the ‘energy’ she’d felt earlier.
The box was quite small, its diameter less than the length of her hand. There was an intricate, fluid design carved on to the lid, interlocking figures of eight curling along each of the seven edges, punctuated at every corner with a triangular knot that looked vaguely Celtic. In the centre of the lid was a circle with a crescent etched over the top of it: the Moon. Merry tried to prise the lid open with her nails, but the box was locked. Absentmindedly, she traced a finger over the design. She’d seen that pattern before.
‘Let’s go back downstairs. I’ve think I’ve got the key that will open this.’
While Leo went to make some tea, Merry returned to her room and started rummaging in drawers and boxes. Eventually she found it: the charm bracelet Gran had given her for her twelfth birthday.
‘What’ve you got there?’ Leo put the tea down and knelt on the floor next to her.
She held the bracelet up to him by one of the charms: a small silver key.
‘It’s got the same