The Third-Story Bedroom

Part two of my interpretation on Chris Van Allsburg's Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Hats off to him for the book of ideas and the illustrations he drew.

            It was Hot Lava Day at school. Lava was everywhere, except in the classrooms. The only way to get around safely was to walk on the cracks in the pavement. Everywhere kids were walking with their arms outstretched in effort to balance on the fine lines.

            Archie walked serenely along a pencil-thin line, unperturbed by the steam rising around. Hot Lava Day was easy. Or had been, until Ronnie decided to make it more interesting. Archie’s eyes were constantly roving, monitoring for sudden movements.

            Most people moved carefully, some glacially, on Hot Lava Day. They took the utmost care too avoid a horrible and, by universal agreement, painful death. Burning alive was no walk in the park. Ronnie was different.

            “Scrawny” Ronnie was the skinniest kid in school. He weighed half as much as his backpack. Unfortunately, the day that the hurricane had hit last year, Ronnie hadn’t been wearing his backpack. His super light flyweight body was nearly blown away. Thinking quickly, Ronnie turned sideways and was saved.

            Emboldened by his experience, Scrawny Ronnie found Hot Lava Day a bit mild to his taste. So he had decided to crank the spiciness up. He had turned it into a contact sport.

            An avalanche of screams came from Archie’s left. His head whipped around in time to see Scrawny Ronnie finish clearing an entire crack like a defensive linebacker. First graders writhed in agony behind him.

Archie was shaking his head when he felt the elbow poke into his back. He went up on his toes and began waving his arms to maintain his balance. It was no use. As he felt himself reach and exceed the Point of No Return, Archie made eye contact with Scrawny Ronnie before his eyelids slammed shut. Ronnie was laughing his head off.

Archie’s hands slapped down. Intense heat seared the length of his body. With his head turned to one side, eyes still scrunched shut, Archie waited to sink into the broiling lava. Instead, nothing happened.

Archie’s eyes opened slowly. He was still alive. Looking down he could see the lava, bubbling and boiling. Archie checked his hands. By some miracle, they had landed on a crack.

Every muscle in his eight-year-old body was working to keep his body supported. Only his hands and feet were touching the ground. Everything was shaking. Sweat began to drip down his nose, whether from the extreme heat or extreme effort was impossible to know. Most likely both.

Archie did not want to die. While his body was locked in stasis, his mind was flying. He wasn’t wearing his anti-gravity boots, his Pegasus whistle was in his pocket, but his hands were a bit busy. He’d brought his jet pack today, but he wasn’t wearing it, not having anticipated needing it before recess. Archie was in a tight spot.

The sound of high heels approached and Archie collapsed. With a sigh of relief, Archie rolled onto his back. Completely uncooked, he looked up to see Miss Brownberry striding by.

“Medium rare, no! Well done!” Scrawny Ronnie was on the scene (and a crack). “Can I have your jet pack since you’re dead?”

“Ronnie, you know you can’t die when a teacher is watching. You can’t have my jet pack.” Archie rose and quickly rebalanced on a crack away from Scrawny Ronnie.

“Aw maaaan, he’s right,” Ronnie slunk away, surely biding his time.

The rest of Hot Lava Day passed without major incident, although the earthquake during lunch recess had made things interesting. Archie, thanks to his jet pack, and little Emily, thanks to her hoverboard, rode it out without difficulty, but there were many casualties.

On the way home, Archie and Abby skipped and jumped, even did a carefully measured cartwheel once. Crabwalking and bearwalking were also part of the journey. As long as they didn’t step on a crack (to save their mother’s spine, of course), everything would be fine.

They held hands when they went by the library owned by Mr. Linden. It was a known fact that Mr. Linden was a warlock. Once they were passed the library, they turned off of Elm Street and onto Maple Street. One block down they turned onto Home Street. They were home.

The galloped up the walkway and through the door. “Leave your horses in the hallway, please!” Their mother shouted from the kitchen, “How was school?”

“Normal day, Mom!” Neither of them bothered to tie up their steed after dismounting. Instead they both immediately mounted the stairs.

“Make sure you close the window!” Their mother’s voice chased them up the stairs. Archie dropped his jet pack in his room on the second floor, then followed Abby up the to third-floor bedroom. This was neutral territory.

Technically, the third-floor bedroom was a bedroom, but it was rarely used as such. It also served as a command center, or a prison tower cell, or, once, even an escape (from Earth) pod. There was a bed, a dresser, and an old radiator under the window. Other than the doves on the wallpaper, there was nothing else of note.

They only other thing on the third floor was a half bath. This term made no sense to Archie or Abby. Inside the tiny room were a toilet and a sink, but there was no bathtub, half or any other fraction of one. They ignored the bath(less)room, except for emergencies.

The third-floor bedroom was their space. The only rule was that they had to close the window when they were in there. Their mother opened it during the day to get air circulating through the house, but wanted it closed when they got home. It was harder, although not quite impossible, for aliens to kidnap them through a closed window, she said.

They battled a werewolf and trapped a troublesome poltergeist in the closet before the call for dinner brought them downstairs. Their father came up from the basement at the same time, covered in oil and brown stains. Over dinner he explained the difficulties he was having with the Quantum Pooper Scooper that he was inventing for Mrs. Steampipe.

“The alarms are functioning properly, but the catapult arm keeps missing the static black hole. The molecular generator keeps getting jammed with…stuff,” he said. Archie commiserated and regaled everyone with his close call during Hot Lava Day.

The next day was Dinosaur Day. Fourth grade velociraptors were the known danger, as was Mrs. Allosaurus Rex. A timely asteroid allowed most kids to go home alive, although some limbs didn’t make it through the day.

When the triceratops and spinosaurus burst through the door, they heard a pteranodon from the kitchen, “You two forgot to close the window yesterday. Don’t forget today.” Two small mice scampered up the staircase.

Something was off that day in the third-floor bedroom. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, but there was a change. It didn’t stop Archie and Abby from arresting three bank robbers and tight rope walking over the Grand Canyon.

The next day at school was very quiet (Invisible Day). When they arrived in the third-floor bedroom they stopped in doorway. Two of the doves from the wallpaper were missing.

They weren’t missing as if someone had cut two holes in the wallpaper. They were missing as if they’d been erased from the pattern. Archie and Abby looked at each other then went and closed the window together.

That night during dinner, after they had defeated a minotaur and lassoed the Loch Ness Monster, they mentioned the change. “The doves are disappearing! It all began when someone left the window open—”

“Someone? You mean someone like you or your sister?” Their mother raised an eyebrow.

“Right, someone. Not me.”

“Or me,” Abby added.

“So the birds are escaping…” mused their father. Today he was covered in chocolate and mustard stains.

“Escaping? Were they prisoners?” asked Abby anxiously.

“No, I mean—I don’t think so. I guess you’d have to ask them, wouldn’t you?” No one had a better idea, so the matter was settled.

Archie and Abby ran and skipped home from school the next day, keeping in the spirit of Anything But Walking Day. They did stop to open the door, but plowed straight through it instead. They did not climb the stairs, but flew up the stairwell, barely missing hitting their heads before they arrived, breathless at the third-floor bedroom.

They had done everything humanly possible to get home as quickly as possible and it had paid off. There was a dove above the dresser with one wing and its head peeled away from the wallpaper.

Eager to get closer, Archie and Abby stepped forward simultaneously into the doorway. They weren’t large kids, but neither was the doorway. They got stuck.

“Are you a prisoner?” Abby blurted. The dove turned to look at the two-headed creature stuck in the doorway. Its beak opened.

“No, I’m not a prisoner. But I do seem to be rather stuck,” it’s voice was mellifluous and sweet. A brief scuffle got the kids through the door. Archie reached up to help pry the dove from the wall. He could not budge the bird “On the count of three,” the bird suggested. Abby came up behind her brother and grabbed hold of his hips, ready to pull.

“One, two, three!” A soft PLOP, and the dove was free. It stood in Archie’s open hands and spoke, “Thank you, Archie. And Abby.” It nodded to Abby.

“Where are you going?” asked Archie. He looked at the other empty spaces on the wall. “Where did the others go?”

“We must spread the word. The window has opened.”

“Oh, come on. We only forgot to close it one time. Just once!”

“You cannot close this window, Young Archie. You are the window.” Confused, Archie turned to Abby. Her blank face reflected his own. No clues there. The dove explained. “This is not the only world, Archie. There is another, very much like this one, but limitless in possibilities. It is there that I must carry my message.”

“I don’t get it,” Abby said.

“Your brother is very special, Abby. He is going to be very important in some things that will most certainly happen. He will need your help.” The dove ruffled its feathers and looked once more into the eyes of young Archie Burdick. “Good luck.”

The bird took off, flapping through the open window. Archie and Abby looked at each other and shrugged. “Should we slay the dragon and sly the princess?”

“Maybe we should save one of them.” A nod. They went to work.

            That night, lying in bed, Archie heard a muffled noise through the ceiling. He slid out of bed quietly and crept up the stairs. The door to the third-floor bedroom was closed. Holding his breath, Archie flung the door open.

            Dim moonlight illuminated a white whirlwind. Dozens of white doves spiraled through the room, swooping and diving. It was a wonder that there were no collisions. Archie entered the room.

            Although Archie could feel the wind coming off their wings, not a bird touched him as he made his way to the wind. As he moved through the swirling white storm he noticed that the walls were bare. Not a bird was left on the wallpaper.

            Once he reached the window Archie did not hesitate to throw open the window. The twirling forms of the doves poured out the window, a miniature white river emptying into the world. Or the other world.