Button Hill

  O R C A B O O K P U B L I S H E R S

  Copyright © 2015 Michael Bradford

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bradford, Michael, 1975–, author

  Button Hill / Michael Bradford.

  Issued also in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0755-6 (pbk.)—ISBN 978-1-4598-0756-3 (pdf)—

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0757-0 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS8603.R33B88 2015jC813'.6C2014-906663-5

  C2014-906664-3

  First published in the United States, 2015

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014952055

  Summary: Dekker must rescue his younger sister when she goes missing in the mysterious Nightside world of Button Hill.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Design by Chantal Gabriell

  Cover art by Serena Malyon

  Author photo by Jody Polowick

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4 ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  18171615•4321

  To my family and friends

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  One

  As soon as he saw the worn wooden door in the basement, Dekker smiled. He knew he had found something his little sister would hate.

  The basement smelled of damp cement and rotting potatoes. Boxes were jammed everywhere. A heavy wooden desk stood in one corner, and an antique phone with two bells on top hung on the wall beside an ancient washing machine.

  The house belonged to Dekker’s great-aunt Primrose, and so far the old lady was the worst part of staying on Button Hill. He still didn’t really understand why he and his sister, Riley, had to be there.

  Dekker had been sent down to put away his mom’s empty suitcases in the basement, and that was when he’d noticed the rough-looking sliding door at the far end. Dekker unhooked the latch that locked it, and it squealed along its rail as he eased it open. Cold air breathed up from the other side. Stone steps led downward, as if there were a dungeon below the house. A hiding place—this could be fun, he thought.

  Dekker knew he was alone, but still he scanned the basement to make sure no one was watching. He crept down the narrow steps.

  At the bottom was a small, dirt-floored room. A single lightbulb hung from a rusty hook in the ceiling and cast a thin yellow light. Something tall and skinny draped in a white sheet stood in one corner. Dekker saw glass jars on the shelves that lined the walls, some cloudy with dark liquids, some full of seeds or powders. Set into the center of the floor was a circle of stacked-up stones, supporting a heavy-looking wooden hatch about three feet across. Two rusted bands of metal held the ash-colored planks together. He tried to pry the hatch loose, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Dekker thought he heard the tall thing under the sheet make a noise. It was a quiet sound, like a click or a tap. Curious, he pulled back the dusty sheet. There stood a grandfather clock that reached nearly to the ceiling, now silent and still. Its ebony cabinet was shaped like a casket. A pair of large skeletal hands at the top supported a round, open clock face that revealed tiny cogs and wheels behind it. At the center of the clock face, instead of hands and numbers, was a black skull set into a serrated metal disk. Dekker peered through the open front and thought how much fun it would be to take the clock apart.

  “Young man, how long do you intend to stand there?” The huge shape of his great-aunt filled the entrance to the cellar behind him. She stepped toward him, and her flinty eyes narrowed to slits as she inspected him.

  Something he had heard his mom say a long time ago sparked in the back of Dekker’s brain. “Is that the same clock from when Mom was a kid?”

  The old lady crossed her arms. “I’m surprised your mother told you about it. But yes, it is a priceless family heirloom. It hasn’t run in decades. A child with manners would know not to touch such a thing without permission.”

  “If it doesn’t work, why do you keep it?”

  The old lady drew a cloth from her apron and polished the skull in the center of the clock face. “Some things still have value, even if they no longer fulfill their original function. Your function at this time is to unpack your belongings, as your mother and sister have already done.” She flung the white sheet back over the clock, then went up the stairs without waiting for Dekker.

  “I was just checking things out,” muttered Dekker. He crouched to examine the surface of the hatch in the floor and sucked in his breath as a jagged splinter of wood bit into the tip of his finger. Absently, he pressed the puncture and watched the blood drip onto the hatch. The parched gray boards swallowed it up.

  When he got back upstairs, Dekker found his mother peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink.

  “What’s the deal with that secret room under the basement?” he asked her.

  “Secret room? Oh, you mean the root cellar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where Aunt Prim keeps apples and vegetables and other things from the garden over the winter. Or she used to. There’s a chute somewhere near the side of the house. When my brother and I spent time here as kids, we’d drop the potatoes and carrots down. She’d have us bury them in a sandpit to keep them cool and dry. There were fresh vegetables all winter in a good year. Carrots got a bit soft by March though. We used to say eating them was like nibbling on Aunt Prim’s fingers.”

  “That’s gross, Mom, seriously. What about that door in the cellar floor?”

  She shot him a stern look. “That’s the old well. It ran dry years ago. Don’t even think about it.”

  “Aunt Prim says I’m not supposed to touch the creepy clock that’s down there either. I’m not allowed to touch anything around here.”

  His mother frowned. “I didn’t know she still had that old thing.”

  Dekker nodded. “Why would Aunt Prim want a clock with a skull on it? Did she join a motorcycle gang?”

  His mom shrugged. “It’s been in the family forever. And your aunt’s right,” she said, turning toward Dekker and waving the potato peeler at him. “I don’t want you playing with it either. That clock is down there for a reason. Just leave it alone.”

  “Why?” asked Dekker. “Is it cursed or something?”

  His mother laughed. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t work anymore, and it gave my brother and me nightmares, so Aunt Prim put it out of sight.”

  She tossed a potato to him, and Dekker caught it. “What’s this for?”

  “It’s for supper. Aunt Prim is cooking a nic
e dinner for us. You can peel it.”

  “Aww, do I have to? She doesn’t even want us here anyway.”

  “Of course she does. Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “No reason except her extreme grouchiness. Maybe it’s her superpower.”

  His mother looked at him with concern, her eyes tired. “Well, it’ll get better, I hope. It’s just one potato—it’s not going to kill you.”

  He peeled it, then wiped his hands on his shirt as he left the kitchen and went up to his room. His sister flung open the bedroom door a second after he closed it and bounded into his room. “I can’t believe we’re finally here!” said Riley while she did a little dance at the foot of his bed. “Did I scare you that time?”

  Dekker sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “The door was closed for a reason. You’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

  “But did I scare you?”

  “Uh, no. This house is a hundred years old. I heard the floor creaking before you even came in.”

  “Darn it.” Riley looked up at her brother, her green eyes sparkling. “I bet there’s a secret room somewhere or something!”

  Dekker flopped out on the bed and said, “Yeah, but Aunt Prim wouldn’t let us go in it anyway. Plus, there’s no TV here, no Internet, and it smells weird. It sucks.”

  “I think Auntie’s going to be fun!”

  Dekker cleared his throat and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Aunt Primrose does not approve of games, does not approve of dirty children.”

  “She didn’t say that, did she?”

  “She’s super strict about manners and stuff. Keep your distance if you want to stay out of trouble.”

  “I bet out back there’re barns and tractors and, like, old stuff!”

  “If you like old stuff so much, why don’t you go hang out with her then? You’ll see how cool Aunt Primrose is.” Their dog, Ranger, padded into the bedroom and rolled over on his back between them. “Your turn to scratch his belly,” Dekker said. “I’m busy.”

  That evening Aunt Primrose served a sticky scalloped-potato casserole. Dekker tried feeding a forkful to Ranger when no one was looking, but the dog only gave him an apologetic look before skulking away. Aunt Primrose droned on about all the people in the town who had died or moved away over the last twenty years.

  When Aunt Primrose excused herself to prepare dessert, Dekker whispered to his mother, “Mom, can I leave the table for a minute? I don’t feel so good.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone, Dekker. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” He gave his mother his most innocent look and slithered away from the table. In the hall, the light from long, thin windows too high up to see through made strange shapes on the walls, and the worn wooden floors creaked with every step he took.

  He passed a sewing room and a stuffy room Aunt Prim called a sitting room and soon found himself back at the basement stairs. Without thinking about it, he crept down to the dank cellar. He pulled back the sheet that covered the clock and peered into the open front. The clockwork seemed to be made of fine pieces of bone. Dekker moved in so close he was almost touching it with his nose. Those bones can’t be human—they’re too small.

  He climbed up on a wooden crate to get a better look at the skull in the middle of the open clock face. The metal disk that encircled the black skull was sharp and bit into his finger when he ran it along the edge. The skull grinned back at him, its eye sockets dark and hollow. On impulse, Dekker put his fingers inside the sockets and twisted. The gears inside the clock shuddered, and the skull turned halfway around, its jaw clacking open and shut. It ticked three beats, four, and then the gears ground together as they came to a halt. The temperature in the cellar seemed to drop, and Dekker shivered. The skull leered at him, upside down now. All the hair on the back of Dekker’s neck stood up. He backed away and climbed quickly out of the basement.

  As Dekker passed the back door on his way to the dining room, someone spoke. “So you escaped from dinner.” He jumped and felt his cheeks flush. A pale girl with coal-black hair stood just outside the screen door to the backyard. She was shorter than he was. In her small hands she held a pie. She studied him with ice-blue eyes. “Whatever dinner was, it sure smells…special.”

  “Are you looking for my aunt?” asked Dekker. He opened the door in what he hoped was a totally casual way.

  She shook her head. “My dad sent me over with this for you. I hate command performances, so I hung out in the garden until I could deliver it without seeing Old Lady Prim.”

  “I didn’t see the backyard yet. We had to unpack all afternoon.”

  The girl shrugged. “Vegetables, yawn. Wicked flowers though. Some sheds. If you need to get away, there are lots of places to disappear.”

  “How did you know I wanted to get away from my aunt?”

  She snorted. “Everyone in Button Hill tries to avoid her. So bossy. Dad made me come so he wouldn’t have to. Hates mixing business with pleasure. He owes me big time for this. Here.” She passed him the pie, then tucked her long hair back behind her ears. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

  “It’s cool. I’m Dekker. So my aunt, like, works with your dad? I didn’t know she had a real job.”

  The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Sort of. He works at the cemetery. She helps every time there’s a funeral. You’re the first new people to come here in ages. Most move out or, you know, move on. I’m Harper, by the way. Well…you should probably get back to dinner before she notices you’re gone.”

  He groaned. “I hate this place already.”

  Harper leaned closer, and the smell of her hair reminded Dekker of apples. “It’s pretty boring on the surface, but once you know your way around, you might find some things to keep you busy.” She turned to go. “Next time I see you, I’ll show you something fun.” She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail as she moved into the backyard. Dekker watched her until she disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Back in the dining room, Aunt Primrose stopped her conversation with Riley and gave Dekker a withering look. “Dekker, I’m so glad you have decided to grace us with your presence once more,” she said.

  “Umm, someone dropped off this pie,” he said, putting it on the sideboard.

  “Oh, who was that?” asked his mother.

  “I don’t know—some girl.”

  “Oooh, a girl,” said Riley.

  Dekker ignored his sister and looked at Aunt Primrose. “She said her dad knows you from the cemetery.”

  Aunt Primrose raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised Harper is running errands for her father. I didn’t think she could be bothered. She’s not the sort you should be associating with.”

  “I wasn’t associating. I just answered the door.”

  “I think it’s great you met someone from town,” said his mother.

  An insincere smile split Aunt Primrose’s face, revealing her crooked teeth. “Timing is everything, as they say. And since you didn’t have time to help prepare dinner, you’re just in time to do the dishes.”

  “But I did help. I delivered a pie and peeled a potato.”

  Riley burst out laughing.

  Dekker glared and pointed at his sister. “What about her?”

  “She set the table, so you shall clean up.”

  “But that’s a girl’s job,” he said.

  His mother gasped. “Dekker! Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Aunt Primrose calmly returned Dekker’s stare until he looked away. “In my house, children are expected to do as they are asked. And if chores of a more physical nature are what you require, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Riley made a face at him. Dekker glowered down at his plate but didn’t say anything. He would get Riley back later.

  Dekker had been shocked when his mother told him they were moving out here for the summer. He dimly remembered visiting Aunt Primrose’s acreage on the edge of Button Hill several year
s back. Just before school had ended a few weeks ago, he’d eavesdropped on a phone conversation his mother was having with Aunt Primrose.

  “Why not hire a nanny?” Aunt Primrose had asked.

  “I can’t afford that, Aunt Prim. It would be way too expensive.”

  “Two months is a long time, Stella. Does it have to be the summer? I’m quite busy in July. Perhaps they could stay with friends…”

  “I need you then because school is out. All my friends work. My classes run all summer, and I’ll have to work night shifts too. I need to finish this degree. The only way I can do it is if I’m on my own.”

  “Can’t you trust him to care for his sister? He’s old enough.” His mother had just sighed in response. “As I recall, Stella, the boy has atrocious manners. I don’t know if I can help.”

  “I don’t need you to fix them. I just need you to look after them—in the regular way—until I’m done school. Do you think you can do that?”

  Dekker had been surprised by the scorn in Aunt Primrose’s voice. “You think you’re raising them to reach their potential? They could be so much more—or the girl could, at least. You know it, and you won’t admit it.”

  His mother had sighed again. “They’re not to be part of your world, Aunt Prim. I wish you could just enjoy their company. They’re good kids, you know.”

  Aunt Primrose had spoken so quietly that Dekker had to hold his breath to hear. “The clock has been still for so long, I fear my world no longer exists…Very well. They can come, but only for the summer. And I shall do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  The first night in the old house, Dekker dreamed he could hear the wheels of the old clock clicking inside his head: tick, tock, tick, tock. In his dream, he stood at the base of a hill, at the foot of a rough-hewn stone bridge that that ran across a gorge. The gorge was dark, and he could not see what lay beyond. A full moon flooded the sky just above the horizon. The stars were out, but something was different about the way they shone, as if their light had frozen. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.

  Dekker heard heavy footsteps running behind him. He was filled with a sense of dread he couldn’t explain. The clock began to toll the hour. Bong. He staggered as the vibrations shook him from side to side. Bong. The footsteps got louder, and now he heard a shout and ragged breathing. Bong.