Free The Castle on Deadman's Island by Curtis Parkinson

now,” Neil said, “is search the castle one more time.” He set to work again on the lock, and soon they were back in Mrs. Ruff’s kitchen.
    Graham went straight to the fridge, “Hey, she’s made an apple pie. Sure looks good. Do we dare?”
    â€œMaybe she’ll blame it on the escaped POWs,” Daniel said. “Let’s take a chance. Apple pie is good for poison ivy, isn’t it?” He was at the sink, diligently washing his arms and legs as Graham had suggested.
    They helped themselves to pie. Then, refreshed, they tackled the ground floor once more, looking for a hidden entrance.
    â€œIt could be anywhere,” Graham said. “Behind a bookcase … under a rug …”
    â€œOr a button behind a painting that opens a door in the wall,” Neil said. “That’s a favorite in the movies.”
    â€œOr a tile you step on and the floor opens up under you,” Daniel added.
    They searched the kitchen, the dining room, the billiard room, the study, and the library, looking behind furniture and pictures and under rugs, but they came up empty-handed.
    Daniel peered into the room next to the library. “Hey look at all this stuff!” he said. Scattered about were bumper cars, a colorful tunnel-of-love boat, two merry-go-round horses – one white and placid-looking, the other black and prancing – the car from a roller coaster, even a steam calliope. Bright posters featuring lion tamers, clowns, elephants, and trapeze artists decorated the walls. “Gramps mentioned that his friend collected old circus what-d’you-call-’ems,” Daniel said.
    â€œMemorabilia,” Graham supplied.
    â€œYeah, let’s have a gander. Great place to hide a secret entrance.”
    â€œWe looked in there last night,” Neil said. “It won’t hurt to look again though.”
    Inside, they began searching. Neil, down on his knees, peered under the bumper cars; Graham pushed the buttons of the calliope; Daniel checked the hooves of the prancing black horse. “Groovy stuff to collect,” he said, moving over to the white horse and pulling its tail absentmindedly.
    Suddenly, there was a whirring and clanking sound, like gears meshing. The white horse began to tiltsideways, and the rectangular section of floor it was attached to began to swing slowly upwards.
    Daniel jumped back out of the way. Across the room, Neil and Graham gaped. “The trapdoor!” Graham exclaimed.
    When the trapdoor was fully open, all three crowded around and stared down, but they weren’t looking at the cement stairs that disappeared into the darkness below. Their gaze focused on the skeleton, lying at the top of the stairs….

NINETEEN
_
    The empty eye sockets stared back at them.
    â€œCripes, who is
that?”
said Daniel.
    â€œGood God, Graham, can it be …?” said Neil.
    â€œMy aunt? No, thank heavens. Aunt Etta is small, but not that small. This looks like a child. Whoever it is, it’s been here for months – more likely years, the state it’s in.”
    Neil shifted uncomfortably. It was hard not to look.
    At that moment, the whirring and clanking noise began again. They had to back away as the rectangularsection of floor swung slowly down and settled into place with a clunk. The white horse attached to it swung back upright and stood there serenely, as if relieved it had finally shared the awful secret it had guarded all these years.
    â€œWell, I’ll be darned,” Graham said. “The mechanism must be on a timer. You pull the horse’s tail and the trapdoor opens, but just long enough for you to go down the steps before it automatically closes behind you.”
    â€œLeaving the FBI, who are chasing you, baffled,” Daniel added, “while you calmly follow the passage to the boat that’s waiting in the cave.”
    â€œVery clever,” Graham said. “And that’s why your