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

grandfather’s friend kept it a secret.”
    â€œWhich still doesn’t tell us who that skeleton is,” Daniel said. “Or was.”
    â€œNot exactly,” Graham said. “But I’m beginning to suspect it’s the answer to the mystery of the second owner’s son – the one who disappeared from the castle and was never found.”
    â€œIt does add up,” Neil said. “I can just imagine the boy playing with the merry-go-round horses, then one day he happens to pull the tail of the white horse and the trapdoor opens.” He looked down at the patch of floor under the white horse, imagining thescene that fatal day. “What kid could resist taking a look? Suddenly the floor closes over him … and that’s that. Poor little guy.”
    Graham shook his head sadly. “And his father, of course, didn’t know about the trapdoor
or
the hidden passage. The man he’d bought the castle from was dead, and the secret of the trapdoor died with him.”
    For a moment, all three were silent. “I suppose no one could hear the boy’s cries,” Graham said. “Must be a foot of concrete under the floorboards. And if he gave up calling for help and followed the passage, he wouldn’t get far because of the high water level. The curse of the castle, people said, when the boy disappeared. But it wasn’t really that at all.”
    â€œOr was it?” Daniel said.
    They wondered what to do now. “I suppose we should tell the cops,” Neil said. “But how do we explain what we were doing here when we found him?”
    â€œIn New York, you’d make an anonymous phone call,” Daniel said, “then hang up and beat it. Maybe it’s different here. It’s up to you guys.”
    â€œWe have to let the police know,” Graham said. “But I’d like to explore the underground passage before they arrive. Who knows what else is down there.”
    â€œIt’s a cinch you won’t get near it once the cops get here,” Daniel said.
    The thought of disturbing the boy’s bones bothered Neil. “But there can’t be anything to do with your aunt down there. It hasn’t been opened in years.”
    â€œI know,” Graham said. “Still, I have this feeling…. I guess I don’t want to leave any stone unturned, so to speak.”
    Neil shrugged. “All right, I’m game to go. But the trapdoor will close behind whoever goes down there, so someone has to stay up here to open it again. We sure don’t want what happened to the boy to happen to any of us!”
    â€œYou two guys go, if you want,” Daniel said. “I’ll wait up here for you.”
    After Daniel pulled the horse’s tail a second time to open the trapdoor, Neil and Graham stepped gingerly over the skeleton at the top and descended the stairs. A few minutes later, they heard the timer click and the gears begin to whir as the trapdoor closed over their heads.
    â€œPoor little kid, trapped alone down here in the pitch dark,” Neil said. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. He pictured him beating on the cruel concrete with his small fists, his calls for help turning to tears. “He must have been terrified.”
    â€œIt’s creepy enough down here with a light,” Graham said, shining the flashlight around the walls. Waterdripped from the stones, and strands of soggy green growth hanging from the ceiling brushed their heads.
    They had agreed that Daniel would open the door at regular intervals, in case he couldn’t hear their shouts when they were ready to leave. Even so, Neil had to fight down a feeling of panic when the heavy trapdoor above them clunked solidly shut.
    Now they were moving along the tunnel, over the rough, slippery stone floor. After some distance, the beam of the flashlight picked out an empty cardboard box. It was slumped against the wall, as if it, too, had given up