The International House of Dereliction by Jacqueline Davies

Author:Jacqueline Davies
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-04-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

“I can’t bear it,” said Danny. “I’ve told the House that I’m going to seep into the floor of the basement and stay there until the last person who knew me on earth is gone. Then I’ll become one of the Forever Forgotten. They have no memories at all. I’d rather have no memories than these.”

“No, Danny!” said Alice, but Ivy perked up as if she thought this might not be a bad idea.

Alice continued. “You have to fight. You have to try to remember more. Where did you put the poems you wrote to Jenny?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try!”

“I know they’re safe. I put them somewhere safe.” Danny sank onto the sofa, as if the burden of holding up his weightless vapor was too much.

“But where?” implored Alice.

“Someplace dark,” said Danny, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

“A closet?” asked Alice.

“A grave?” asked Ivy.

“No,” said Danny. “Warm. And dry. And . . . noisy.”

“Noisy?” asked Ivy.

“What kind of noise?” asked Alice.

“A . . .” Danny dropped his hands and closed his transparent eyelids. “A squeak.”

Alice and Ivy looked at him.

“Oh no!” said Alice, suddenly understanding. A squeak. Mice! The sofa! It was warm and dry and dark inside the cushions, and mice had been living in there for years. “Danny, did you stuff the poems inside the cushions of the sofa?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.”

“It’s a very good place to hide something,” said Ivy. She turned to Alice. “Are you going to tear it open?”

“It won’t do any good,” said Alice. “Roberta threw out all the old stuffing. She said it was unsanitary because of the mouse droppings. She bagged it all up and took it to the dump. It’s gone.”

They all stared at the beautiful, good-as-new sofa and thought about what they had lost. Alice knew she couldn’t help Danny without the poems. She sat down on the floor and put her head in her hands.

“Not in the couch,” muttered Danny, shaking his head.

Alice looked up.

“Not in the couch,” said Danny again. “I can see the poems, but they’re not in the stuffing of the couch. There’s a poem I know.”

“This isn’t the time to recite a poem, Danny,” said Ivy. She was so exhausted, even her valise dripped to the floor.

“This poem is different. This poem is the key. I recited it every day to remind myself where I’d hidden the poems, because Ivy told me I would forget everything. But I’ve always remembered poetry. So I made the poem the key to where I’d hidden the other poems. I kept reciting it all the time, until . . . I forgot about reciting it.”

“You can remember, Danny,” said Alice, standing up. “I know you can.”

Ivy flew to Danny’s side and laid a ghostly hand on his shoulder. “Try, Danny. You can do it.”

Even Mugwort, who had crept out of the walls, stood at attention and said, “Rally, sir, rally! Give it your best shot.”

“A mouse . . . and something . . . the warmth,” Danny muttered to himself.

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