The Castle on Deadman's Island by Curtis Parkinson Page A

the boy who disappeared,” he said. He could imagine the boy spending hours in the attic, refighting the Great War with his soldiers. They looked like they were patiently waiting for him to come back and give the order to attack.
    In another corner, they found a small suitcase – a smart beige traveling case. Its shiny newness contrasted sharply with the other dusty things in the attic. Graham dropped to his knees and clicked open the latches. The suitcase was jammed with clothes – slips, blouses, skirts, stockings – that appeared to have been stuffed in haphazardly.
    â€œYour aunt’s?” Neil asked.
    â€œI suspect so.” Graham stared at the case.
    â€œWhat do you make of its being up here?”
    â€œMy guess is that someone hid it here because they wanted Mrs. Ruff to think she’d left on her trip.”
    They were silent, thinking what this implied.
    â€œMaybe she had two and didn’t need this one,” Neil said, trying to offer a hopeful suggestion.
    Graham gave him a withering look. “So she stuffed this one full of clothes and hid it in one of the farthest corners of the attic?” He stood up. “Well, there’s only one more place left to search.”
    â€œI know,” Neil said. “The cellar.” Probably a cold, clammy, creepy place, with dripping water, monster spiders, and scuttling centipedes. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

FIFTEEN
_
    Confident they would easily find the stairs leading down to the cellar, Neil and Graham scoured the ground floor, opening every door, peering into every alcove. “There’s got to be cellar stairs somewhere,” Neil said, as he stood in the hall scratching his head. “Who ever heard of a castle without a cellar?”
    Graham agreed.
“A
dark clammy spooky place usually, like in an Abbott and Costello movie. Maybe the entrance is outside.”
    So they skirted the outside of the castle, shining the flashlight on the foundation all the way around, without finding any sign of an entranceway “Bafflesme,” Graham said. “I can’t help feeling we’re missing something….”
    Back in the kitchen, he sighed. “We’ve done all we can for now. Might as well get some shut-eye before we have to beat it. I wonder what time Mrs. Ruff and the slave get here in the morning.”
    Neil yawned. “Dunno, but I’m exhausted.”
    They went back to the second floor. “Pick a bed room,” Graham said. “There are dozens to choose from. I’ll take my aunt’s room – maybe it’ll give me inspiration while I sleep and I’ll wake up with the answer.”
    They separated, and Neil flopped on the bed in the room next to Graham. Despite his exhaustion, the rattling and grating noises of the old castle kept him awake. What was that creaking sound? Someone coming up the stairs? Were those footsteps outside his door? He had to keep reminding himself that Graham was in the next room, just a step away. Sleeping soundly, no doubt.
    Neil didn’t fall asleep until the sky began to lighten in the east. Then he slept so soundly that he didn’t stir until he heard an abrasive voice calling loudly, “Leonard, where are you?” It was Mrs. Ruff.
    Neil leaped out of bed.
    A shaft of sunlight was streaming in the bedroom window.
What a time to sleep in!
He tiptoed intoGraham’s room. His friend was spread-eagled on his aunt’s bed, dead to the world. “Graham,” he whispered. “Wake up. They’re here!”
    Graham’s eyes opened slowly.
“Huh?
Who?”
    â€œShh.
It’s the Ruffs. Keep your voice down.”
    Graham sat up. “Holy cow! It’s morning already?”
    â€œYeah. We both slept in.”
    They crept to the head of the main staircase and listened. From below a swishing sound drifted up, then Mrs. Ruff came into view, wielding a mop. She was pushing a bucket along with her foot as