“It was big, I remember that. And old. I’m sure it was very old.”

“Could you draw it?”

“I could try.”

He did just that, and though he wasn’t much of an artist his hand seemed to remember more than his brain had, because after a half hour he had drawn the House in considerable detail. His father was pleased.

“We’ll take this with us tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe somebody will recognize it.”

But the second day was just as frustrating as the first. Nobody knew the House that Harvey had drawn, nor anything remotely, like it. By the end of the afternoon, Harvey’s father was getting short-tempered.

“It’s useless!” he said. “I must have asked five hundred people and not one of them—not one—even vaguely recognized the place.”

“It’s not surprising,” said Harvey. “I don’t think anyone who saw the House—besides me and Wendell—ever escaped before.”

“We should just repeat all this to the police,” his mother said, “and let them deal with it.”

“And what do we tell them?” his father said, raising his voice. “That we think there’s a House out there that hides in a mist, and steals children with magic? It’s ridiculous!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Harvey’s mother said. “We’ll talk about this after we’ve eaten.”

They trudged home, ate and discussed the whole problem again, but without finding any solutions. Mr. Hood had laid his traps carefully over the years, protecting himself from the laws of the real world. Safe behind the mists of his illusion, he’d most likely already found two new and unwitting prisoners to replace Harvey and Wendell. It seemed his evil would go on, undiscovered and unpunished.

The following day Harvey’s father made an announcement.

“This search is getting us nowhere,” he said. “We’re going to give it up!”

“Are you going to the police?” his wife asked him.

“Yes. And they’ll want Harvey to tell them everything he knows. It’s going to be difficult.”

“They won’t believe me,” Harvey said.

“That’s why I’m going to talk to them first,” his father said. “I’ll, find somebody who’ll listen.”

He left soon after breakfast, with a worried expression on his face.

“This is all my fault,” Harvey said to his mom. “We lost all that time together, just because I was bored.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “We’re all tempted to do things we regret once in a while. Sometimes we choose badly and make mistake

“I just wish I knew how to unmake it,” Harvey replied.

His mother went out shopping in the middle of the morning, and left Harvey haunted by that thought. Was there some way to undo the damage that had been done? To take back the stolen years, and live them here, with the people who loved him, and whom he loved dearly in return?

He was sitting at his bedroom window, trying to puzzle the problem out, when he saw a forlorn figure at the street corner. He threw open the window and yelled down to him:

“Wendell! Wendell! Over here!”

Then he raced downstairs. By the time he opened the door his friend was on the step, his face red and wet with tears and sweat.

“What happened?” he said. “Everything’s changed.” His words were punctuated by hiccups. “My dad divorced my mom and my mom’s so old, Harvey, and fat as a house.” He wiped his running nose with the back of his hand, and sniffed hard. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way!” he said. “Well, was it?”

Harvey did his best to explain how the House had deceived them, but Wendell was in no mood for theory. He just wanted the nightmare to be over.

“I want things the way they were,” he wailed.

“My dad’s gone to the police,” Harvey said. “He’s going to tell them everything.”

“That won’t do any good,” Wendell said despairingly. “They’ll never find the House.”

“You’re right,” Harvey said. “I went to look for it with my mom and dad, but it was no use. It’s hiding.”

“Well it’s bound to hide from them, stupid,” Wendell said. “It doesn’t want grown-ups.”

“You’re right,” said Harvey. “It wants children. And I bet it wants you and me more than ever.”

“How’d you reckon that?”

“It almost had us. It almost ate us alive.”

“So you think it’s got a taste for us?”

“I’m sure of it”

Wendell stared at his feet for a moment. “You think we should go back, don’t you?”

“I don’t think any of those grown-ups—my dad, your mom, the police—are ever going to find the House. If we want all those years back, we have to get them for ourselves.”

“I don’t much like the idea,” Wendell confessed.

“Neither do I,” he said, thinking as he spoke that he’d have to leave a note for his mom and dad, so that they wouldn’t think his return had been a dream. “We have to go,” he said. “We don’t have any choice.”

“So when do we start?”

“Now!” said Harvey grimly. “We’ve lost, too much time already.”

XVI. Back to the Happy Land

It was as if the House knew that they were coming back and was calling to them. As soon as they stepped out into the street their feet seemed to know the way. All they had to do was let them lead.

“What do we do when we get there?” Wendell wanted to know. “I mean, we only just escaped with our lives last time—”

“Mrs. Griffin will help us,” Harvey said.

Wendell’s breath quickened. “Suppose Carna bit her head off?” he said.

“Then we’ll have to do it alone.”

“Do what?”

“Find Hood.”

“But you told me he was dead.”

“I don’t think being dead means much to a creature like him,” Harvey said. “He’s in the house somewhere, Wendell, and we have to hunt him down whether we like it or not. He’s the one who stole all those years with our moms and dads. And we won’t get them back until we face him.”

“You make it sound easy,” Wendell said.

“The whole House is a box of tricks,” Harvey reminded him. “The seasons. The presents. They’re all illusions. We have to hold on to that.”

“Harvey? Look.”

Wended pointed ahead of them. Harvey knew the street at a glance. Thirty-three days ago, he’d stood here with Rictus, and listened to the tempter tell him what a fine place lay on the other side of the mist wall up ahead.

“This is it then,” Harvey said.

It was strange, but he didn’t feel afraid, even though he knew they were walking back into their enemy’s arms. It was better to face Hood and his illusions now than to spend the rest of his life wondering about Lulu, and mourning the years he’d lost.

“Are you ready?” he asked Wendell.

“Before we go,” his friend replied, “can we get just one thing s straight? If the House is all illusions, then how come we felt the cold? And how come I got fat from eating Mrs. Griffin’s pies, and—”

“I don’t know,” Harvey cut in, doubt running a cold finger up his spine. “I can’t explain how Hood’s magic works. All I know is, he took all those years away to feed himself.”

“Feed?”

“Yeah. Like…like…like a vampire.” This was the first time Harvey had thought of Hood that way, but it instinctively seemed right. Blood was life, and life was what w Hood fed upon. He was a vampire, sure enough. Maybe a king among vampires.

“So shouldn’t we have a stake, or holy water, or something?”

“That’s just in stories,” Harvey said.

“But if he comes after us—”

“We fight.”

“Fight with what?”

Harvey shrugged. The truth was, he didn’t know. But he was sure that crosses and prayers weren’t going to be any use, in the battle that lay ahead.

“No more talk,” he said to Wendell. “If you don’t want to come, then don’t.”

“I didn’t say that”

“Good,” said Harvey, and started toward the mist.

Wendell followed on his heels, and just as Harvey stepped into the wall he snatched hold of his friend’s sleeve, so that they entered as they had exited: together.