1
On the way to Eklunds’ Puzzle House, it started to snow. Not a timid, fluffy snow with flakes content to drift to the ground and sink slowly into the earth. No, this snow fell with a driving need. It hurtled down from the sky, so hungry, intent on gobbling up everything. By the time Dad turned their hatchback onto the long, lonely road up the mountain and into the deepest part of the forest, six inches of the stuff blanketed the trees and street signs and roads, and the snow wasn’t even close to done.
Perigee sat in the passenger seat and tried not to explode into a million fidgety pieces. Usually they let their excitement (Road trip! Grandma!) and nervousness (Surprise awful snowstorm in March!) bubble out of their mouth, but Dad had been white-knuckling the steering wheel for miles. The last thing he needed was Perigee’s worries piled on top of his own.
“Radio?” Dad asked.
Somewhere during the last mile, the classic rock station they’d been listening to had become jittery fuzz. Perigee hadn’t even noticed. In a way, static paired perfectly with the falling snow. A white noise sound machine to go with all the visual white noise. It maybe even helped to calm Perigee’s nerves. But Dad clearly didn’t find it relaxing, and therefore, it had to go.
“Your copilot is on it.” Perigee rotated the dial, methodically searching for another station. They found nothing but the same staticky murmur. They switched it off.
Dad leaned forward, trying to see the road.
“I could hum, maybe. Or sing? No, no singing,” Perigee amended quickly. “You might drive off a cliff just to make it stop.”
Dad gave a half-hearted chuckle, then squinted into the distance. “Can you read that road sign?”
Perigee followed his gaze. A thin pole stood defiant in the storm. “It says Enigma Lane. That must be it! Did Grandma and Grandpa build their house here because of this street name?”
Dad turned onto the tiny road and the car fishtailed. Dad got it under control before answering. “Nope. They got to name the road themselves, since there was nothing up here before they came.”
“Whoa.” Perigee’s mind went on a brief but rollicking tangent. What would they name a street if they got to pick anything? Maybe Lightsaber Lane, or Supernova Street … No, Perigee could do better. As soon as they got a chance, they’d have to pull out a notebook and fill it with ideas until they settled on a good one. To most kids, it was only a hypothetical question, but Perigee’s brain treated hypotheticals just as seriously as things like “What will I have for lunch?” and “Do I have any math homework?”
“Almost there,” Dad said. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Perigee pressed their forehead to the cold glass of the side window and peered into the darkness. They had grown up with Dad’s stories about Eklunds’ Puzzle House. Stories that sounded more like fairy tales than memories. His parents, Grandma and Grandpa Eklund, had built the mansion themselves from the ground up. It was supposed to be a place where people would not only solve puzzles but live them. Nowadays, escape rooms were a fun way to pass a few hours, but a million years ago when Grandma and Grandpa were young? Eklunds’ Puzzle House would have been one of a kind.
If it had ever opened to the public.
Now Grandma lived there alone, and Dad never saw her. Perigee had only met her once, when they were a baby, and they remembered nothing. Dad had framed a picture of Grandma holding them in their little green onesie and hung it in Perigee’s room. Grandma was not laughing or smiling. In fact, she looked as if she were holding a sack of dirty diapers instead of a baby. But it was the expression in her eyes that gave Perigee chills. Grandma was glaring at the camera, as if she could explode it with her thoughts. No wonder Dad and Grandma hadn’t met up since then.
But all of that was about to change, because Perigee had enacted The Plan, and not even this surprise blizzard could stop it.
A hulking shape emerged in the distance.
“I can see it,” Perigee said. “Eklunds’ Puzzle House!”
“Good thing,” Dad said. “I’m not sure we could have driven much farther in this weather.”
“T minus ten minutes until we’re sitting by a fire drinking hot chocolate out of ridiculously large mugs,” they said.
The snow continued to fall, blurring the landscape and then erasing it altogether. By the time they pulled into Grandma’s long, arcing driveway, the world was a vast white sketchbook page, blank except for the misshapen ink blot of the house at its very center.
Perigee stepped out of the warm car, and Eklunds’ Puzzle House towered above them like a gigantic vulture eyeing a juicy bit of meat. Through the snow, Perigee could just make out clusters of mismatched windows, a tangle of spires reaching into the sky, a cascade of awnings that seemed to protect nothing at all. Someone had chosen to paint the house the same purply blue as a tender bruise. (What the heck, Grandma?) Even the lights clinging to the exterior had been affixed in odd places—over the windows and on the roof and even next to the crooked chimneys. Their bulbs flickered weakly, as if threatening to go out at any moment and return the house to the night.
“Uh-oh,” Perigee said, but not loud enough for Dad to hear.
THE HOUSE
The House felt the rumble of the car up the driveway, the clunk of car doors opening and closing, the crunch-crunch-crunch of boots on its porch. One person tromped with the energy of youth, the other with apprehension. What did it mean?
Over the long decades, the House had stopped taking care of itself. Its sconces had rusted, its fireplaces had grown black with soot and disregard. Even the House’s once-mighty foundation now sagged and sighed with the seasons.
Perhaps the House should continue to slumber. The visitors would be gone soon enough.
And yet, shadows hung from the older visitor’s shoulders like heavy blankets. They were not unlike the shadows that Savannah Eklund wore. Both walked with the same heavy steps.
Walls shuddered and wood moaned as the House peered closer.
… Could it be?
Yes. Oh, yes. The man was none other than Grayson, son of Savannah and Herbert Eklund, who had been but a child when he was last here. The House remembered that child, always grinning and dirty, following his father around with a plastic hammer so he could help build the House. That boy had been awed by everything his parents showed him. The House had led him on treasure hunts, taunted him with baubles, made sure that every dark, changeable passage led him safely to wherever his father or mother sat huddled over their work.
Now the child had returned—and with a child of his own.
And so, with creaking winches and grinding gears, the House began to plan.
2
After hearing Dad talk about Eklunds’ Puzzle House for practically their whole life, Perigee had been expecting a modern-day castle with stained glass windows, colorful banners, and maybe even some talking candlesticks. (Possibly they’d seen too many Disney movies.) In short, they’d expected a fun, magical house, not the Haunted Mansion’s evil big brother.
Perigee was tempted to suggest they get back in the car and drive home. As awful as the storm was, it seemed like the safer choice.
But then Dad joined Perigee on the porch, and from his expression, the house was in no way a disappointment. The anxious lines that had burrowed deep into his forehead during the drive melted away, replaced by smooth, wide-eyed awe. Perigee’s breath caught.
“It doesn’t look how I remember,” Dad said quietly. “With all this snow, you can barely make out the different wings.” He frowned. “There were definitely more windows before, and I don’t remember the angles being so wonky. Maybe the old place has settled into its foundations. I’ll have to check them out.”
Dad said “foundations” like other people said “chocolate,” “new Marvel movie,” or “summer vacation.”
Little bubbles of hope formed in Perigee’s throat, making their voice come out weird. “Windows don’t just disappear, Dad,” they said, nudging his arm.
Dad laughed. A real laugh! “You never know with this place. When I lived here, entire hallways would appear and disappear.”
“You were pretty young back then, right?” They didn’t want to bring the full force of a logic smackdown, but they couldn’t help themself from poking holes in Dad’s clearly incorrect memories. “You’ve built hallways. You know how they work.”
Dad shook his head but didn’t stop smiling. “I’ve worked on a hundred houses, but none like this one. This place is special, Peri. I’m glad I’ll get to show it to you.” He leaned close and kissed Perigee on top of their snow-covered head.
Perigee squinted up at the house. Maybe it was a bit more majestic now. All they needed to do was see it through Dad’s eyes.
“You should ring the doorbell,” Dad said, with that sly edge his voice got whenever he thought he was being clever, like when he was about to unleash a truly terrible pun.
Perigee loved that voice.
They reached for the doorbell, expecting a single button and maybe an ominous chime. Instead, they found a keypad. Not one of those modern, backlit keypads where you entered your security passcode. That would have made sense. No, it was a fanciful alphabet of mechanical keys arranged from A to Z in a circle, with leafy decorations and everything. Shiny brass letters in the center read: “ENTER THE PASSWORD.”
“We need a password to ring the bell,” Perigee said, delighted. “Do you know it?”
Dad snorted. “Try ‘skateboard.’ That was my favorite password as a kid. Hundreds of words will work, though, and every one of them plays different notes to ring the bell. My father said some of the words would even do special things, but I never found any of those before I got sent away.”
Dad was talking, but Perigee was too focused on the doorbell to hear him. They carefully entered the letters to spell “skateboard,” pressing each one until they heard a satisfying click. After the final D, they pressed the unmarked button under the instructions.
A series of bright tones rang from deep inside the house—a smooth run of notes followed by a quick trill, like a skateboarder riding a rail, then doing an ollie to hop off.
Dad sighed happily. “Just like I remember.”
Perigee wanted to try so many other words! What would “pizza” sound like? Or “cat”? Or “orbital mechanics”?
Wait, “orbital mechanics” was two words. They’d have to try them both separately, and absolutely immediately.
But before Perigee could get farther than the first O, they remembered the one thing about this trip that they’d been a tiny bit worried about.
That thing was Grandma.
That thing was also Perigee meeting Grandma for the first time since they were old enough to talk, not to mention Dad seeing Grandma again after so long away. This would either be a family reunion worthy of a very special episode of TV, or a total bloodbath.
Dad’s stories about her went one of two ways. If they were about a time before Dad’s father died, then Grandma was precise and demanding and wickedly smart. If he was talking about Grandma post-tragedy, then she was precise and demanding and wickedly smart, and also distant and cold and judgmental.
Hmmm. “Bloodbath” was sounding more likely.
Grandma had been polite enough on the phone, though … both the time she called Dad to invite them down for spring break, and the time before that when Perigee had secretly called her and asked her to make that second call.
Sometimes you had to do what you had to do.
Dad still didn’t know that Perigee had orchestrated the whole trip. He could never know. The only reason he’d agreed to this adventure was because his mother was “making an effort,” and that “maybe, after all this time, she’s finally changed.” He’d be heartbroken to learn the truth, and breaking Dad’s heart was not part of The Plan.
But right about now, as the doorbell’s joyful echoes fully faded, Perigee wished they knew more about Grandma. Both what to expect and how best to handle her.
Almost as soon as the thought entered their head, it was too late. The massive front door swung open, revealing the glowing innards of the house. And silhouetted against that glow stood the most imposing figure Perigee had ever seen.
Grandma was almost as tall as Dad, but unlike him, she didn’t slouch or fold in on herself. She stood straight as a sword, like some Norse Valkyrie wearing sleek black pants and a knitted gray cardigan cabled and knotted like the ancient world tree. A long braid of white hair swung behind her, swishing like a horse’s tail.
Savannah Hildegard Eklund.
She might have scared Perigee speechless, if there hadn’t been a fluffy white kitten clinging to her shoulder and trying to bite her ear.
“Gah,” Grandma said, plucking the kitten from her sweater. It tried to take most of her cardigan with it, but only succeeded in snagging one loop of the yarn.
“Nice to see you, too,” Dad said, and carefully unstuck the kitten’s claw. “Never thought of you as a cat person.”
Grandma blew a wisp of hair from her face. “Quite amusing, Grayson. You must certainly have surmised that this creature is not mine.” She held the kitten away from her body as if it were radioactive.
“I … had some idea, yes.” Dad turned to Perigee. “But hey, here’s my kid, Perigee. They could probably help you with that kitten.”
“Perigee,” Grandma said, nodding to them.
No hug, no quiet yet powerful tears of reconciliation. No apologetic outbursts or assurances that “my huge weird puzzle house is your huge weird puzzle house.”
On the other hand, “Perigee” was better than “Gah,” and certainly better treatment than the kitten was getting. Its little paws scrabbled in the air, trying to claw at something, anything. Poor thing. Such a simple need.
Copyright © 2024 by Jenn Reese
