Watcher in the Woods Read online

  watcher in the woods

  BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

  Comes a Horseman

  Germ

  Deadfall

  DREAMHOUSE KINGS SERIES

  1 House of Dark Shadows

  2 Watcher in the Woods

  © 2008 by Robert Liparulo

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc. books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Page design by Mandi Cofer

  Map design by Doug Cordes

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Liparulo, Robert.

  Watcher in the woods / Robert Liparulo.

  p. cm. — (Dreamhouse Kings ; bk. 2)

  Summary: Twelve-year-old David and his family search for their kidnapped mother in the many different time period portals of their home, but when a stranger appears and tries to force them to sell the house, their desperation reaches new heights.

  ISBN 978-1-59554-496-4 (hardcover)

  [1. Time travel—Fiction. 2. Dwellings—Fiction. 3. Family life—California—Fiction. 4. California—Fiction. 5. Horror stories.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.L6636Wat 2008

  [Fic]—dc22

  2008009200

  Printed in the United States of America

  08 09 10 11 12 QW 6 5 4 3 2 1

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER one

  CHAPTER two

  CHAPTER three

  CHAPTER four

  CHAPTER five

  CHAPTER six

  CHAPTER seven

  CHAPTER eight

  CHAPTER nine

  CHAPTER ten

  CHAPTER eleven

  CHAPTER twelve

  CHAPTER thirteen

  CHAPTER fourteen

  CHAPTER fifteen

  CHAPTER sixteen

  CHAPTER seventeen

  CHAPTER eighteen

  CHAPTER nineteen

  CHAPTER twenty

  CHAPTER twenty - one

  CHAPTER twenty - two

  CHAPTER twenty - three

  CHAPTER twenty - four

  CHAPTER twenty - five

  CHAPTER twenty - six

  CHAPTER twenty - seven

  CHAPTER twenty - eight

  CHAPTER twenty - nine

  CHAPTER thirty

  CHAPTER thirty - one

  CHAPTER thirty - two

  CHAPTER thirty - three

  CHAPTER thirty - four

  CHAPTER thirty - five

  CHAPTER thirty - six

  CHAPTER thirty - seven

  CHAPTER thirty - eight

  CHAPTER thirty - nine

  CHAPTER forty

  CHAPTER forty - one

  CHAPTER forty - two

  CHAPTER forty - three

  CHAPTER forty - four

  CHAPTER forty - five

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  THIS ONE’S FOR ISABELLA

  “Ain’t nothing sweeter”

  “You watched these people go through their lives and just had

  a feeling that they existed outside the usual laws of nature.”

  — CHARLES SPALDING

  “I’m watching you, always watching.”

  — Roz , Monsters Inc.

  CHAPTER one

  At twelve years old, David King was too young to die. At least he thought so.

  But try telling that to the people shooting at him.

  He had no idea where he was. When he had stepped through the portal, smoke immediately blinded him. An explosion had thrown rocks and who-knew-what into his face. It shook the floor and knocked him off his feet. Now he was on his hands and knees on a hardwood floor. Glass and splinters dug into his palms. Somewhere, all kinds of guns were firing. Bullets zinged overhead, thunking into walls—bits of flying plaster stung his cheeks.

  Okay, so he wasn’t sure the bullets were meant for him. The guns seemed both near and far. But in the end, if he were hit, did it matter whether the shooters meant to get him or he’d had the dumb luck to stumble into the middle of a firefight? He’d be just as dead.

  The smoke cleared a bit. Sunlight poured in from a school-bus- sized hole in the ceiling. Not just the ceiling—David could see attic rafters and the jagged and burning edges of the roof. Way above was a blue sky, soft white clouds.

  He was in a bedroom. A dresser lay on the floor. In front of him was a bed. He gripped the mattress and pushed himself up.

  A wall exploded into a shower of plaster, rocks, and dust. He flew back. Air burst from his lungs, and he crumpled again to the floor. He gulped for breath, but nothing came. The stench of fire—burning wood and rock, something dank and putrid—swirled into his nostrils on the thick, gray smoke. The taste of cement coated his tongue. Finally, oxygen reached his lungs, and he pulled it in with loud gasps, like a swimmer saved from drowning. He coughed out the smoke and dust. He stood, finding his balance, clearing his head, wavering until he reached out to steady himself.

  A hole in the floor appeared to be trying to eat the bed. It was listing like a sinking ship, the far corner up in the air, the corner nearest David canted down into the hole. Flames had found the blankets and were spreading fast.

  Outside, machine-gun fire erupted.

  David jumped.

  He stumbled toward an outside wall. It had crumbled, forming a rough, V-shaped hole from where the ceiling used to be nearly to the floor. Stumps of bent rebar jutted out of the plaster every few feet.

  More gunfire, another explosion. The floor shook.

  Beyond the walls of the bedroom, the rumble of an engine and a rhythmic, metallic click-click-click-click-click tightened his stomach. He recognized the sound from a dozen war movies: a tank. It was rolling closer, getting louder.

  He reached the wall and dropped to his knees. He peered out onto the dirt and cobblestone streets of a small village. Every house and building was at least partially destroyed, ravaged by bombs and bullets. The streets were littered with chunks of wall, roof tiles, even furniture that had spilled out through the ruptured buildings.

  David’s eyes fell on an object in the street. His panting breath froze in his throat. He slapped his palm over his mouth, either to stifle a scream or to keep himself from throwing up. It was a body, mutilated almost beyond recognition. It lay on its back, screaming up to heaven. Male or female, adult or child, David didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. That it was human and damaged was enough to crush his heart. His eyes shot away from the sight, only to spot another body. This one was not as broken, but was no less horrible. It was a young woman. She was lying on her stomach, head turned with an expression of surprised disbelief and pointing her lifeless eyes directly at David.

  He spun around and sat on the floor. He pushed his knuckles into each eye socket, squeegeeing out the wetness. He swallowed, willing his nausea to pass.

  His older brother, Xander, said that he had puked when he first saw a dead body. That had been only two days ago—in the Colosseum. David didn’t know where the portal he had stepped th
rough had taken him. Certainly not to a gladiator fight in Rome.

  He squinted toward the other side of the room, toward the shadowy corner where he had stepped into . . . wherever this was . . . whenever it was. Nothing there now. No portal. No passage home. Just a wall.

  He heard rifle shots and a scream.

  Click-click-click-click-click . . . the tank was still approaching.

  What had he done? He thought he could be a hero, and now he was about to get shot or blown up or . . . something that amounted to the same thing: dead.

  Dad had been right. They weren’t ready. They should have made a plan.

  Click-click-click-click-click.

  David rose into a crouch and turned toward the crumbled wall.

  I’m here now, he thought. I gotta know what I’m dealing with, right? Okay then. I can do this.

  He popped up from his hiding place to look out onto the street. Down the road to his right, the tank was coming into town over a bridge. Bullets sparked against its steel skin. Soldiers huddled behind it, keeping close as it moved forward. In turn, they would scurry out to the side, fire a rifle or machine gun, and step back quickly. Their targets were to David’s left, which meant he was smack between them.

  Figures.

  At that moment, he’d have given anything to redo the past hour. He closed his eyes. Had it really only been an hour? An hour to go from his front porch to here?

  But in the house where he lived, stranger things had happened . . .

  CHAPTER two

  63 MINUTESAGO

  SUNDAY, 6 : 48 A . M.

  PINEDALE , CALIFORNIA

  Following Toria, his nine-year-old sister, David stepped through the front door onto the porch. Xander sat there on the steps next to Dad, watching the sun wash the nighttime out of the sky. Toria went down a step and sat on their father’s other side, leaning her head into him. Dad put his arm around her and squeezed her close.

  David looked at his brother.

  Xander had stormed out of the house, furious at Dad for not telling them he had known all along that the house they had moved into four days earlier was dangerous. He didn’t look quite as angry now, and David’s heart lifted when Xander smiled.

  “We’re going to rescue Mom,” Xander said.

  Mom. David’s concern for her was like a knife in his chest. Less than two hours ago she had been taken—kidnapped into one of the other worlds that lay hidden within their new house. He had watched a man carry her away. He and Xander had tried to stop him, but the intruder was too big, too powerful.

  Then Dad had confessed that his own mother had been taken into a portal the very same way, when Dad was only seven years old. They had never found her. His father, Grandpa Hank, had feared for his children and his own sanity and taken the family away. Xander had gone through the roof. He’d screamed that he wouldn’t leave until they’d found Mom, but David was afraid Dad wouldn’t let them stay, knowing it wasn’t safe. Now, it seemed Xander and Dad had agreed: they would stay.

  David scanned the front of the house.

  She’s not yours, he thought. We’re coming for her, you hear?

  His eyes dropped to his sister’s face, then over to his dad’s. They felt it too, he could tell. They were up to this challenge. He looked at Xander’s eyes and saw hope there, and determination.

  David nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Xander reached for the railing and pulled himself up. “Good idea, Dae,” he said, and bolted up the stairs.

  David was right on his heels.

  “Whoa, whoa, guys,” Dad called out. “Xander!”

  Xander kept moving. He pushed through the front door and took the stairs three at a time. David rushed to keep up.

  Behind them, Dad yelled, “Xander! David! Stop!”

  Xander turned on the landing, fire in his eyes. “What?”

  David stopped two steps from the top.

  “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

  “Rescuing Mom,” Xander said in the same tone he would use to explain that water was wet.

  “We’re going to do that, son, absolutely. But we need a plan.” “I have a plan!” Xander yelled.

  It scared David how forcefully Xander said it.

  “I’m going over,” Xander continued. “And I’m going to keep going over until I find her.”

  Going over.

  Since moving into the house, their lives just kept getting weirder and weirder. It had begun with the discovery that the second-floor linen closet was more than a storage place for towels and bedsheets: it was a portal to a locker at the Pinedale Middle and High School. Then he and Xander had followed an intruder in their home through a secret door in the wall.

  There they’d found a flight of stairs to a third floor—a twisting hallway with doors on either side. Beyond each door was a . . . well, that was another thing. The new world they lived in came with its own vocabulary: an antechamber was what lay beyond each of the twenty doors in the upstairs hallway. It was a small room containing a bench and a selection of items—clothing, tools, weapons.

  Set in the opposite wall of each antechamber was another door, always locked. Unlocking it required putting on or picking up some of the items. Beyond that door was a portal, a passageway from their house to one of the other worlds and back.

  World was the word they used to describe the different times and places they could step into from their house. Xander had done it first. He had put on a helmet and chain mail, picked up a sword, and stepped into the Colosseum—right in the middle of a gladiator fight. Their father had barely managed to rescue him.

  And going over or crossing over was the term he and Xander had begun using to describe stepping through a portal to a different world.

  “It’s not that simple,” Dad said.

  “It is that simple,” Xander shot back. He ran down the hall toward the secret door.

  “Xander!” As Dad flew past David, he said, “Stay here.” He disappeared around the corner.

  David threw a quick glance at Toria, who was standing in the entryway. He knew her expression mirrored his own: open mouth, wide eyes. He thought of saying something, then he turned and bolted after his father and brother. He reached the hidden stairway to the third floor and clambered up. Toria was right behind him.

  The first antechamber door was open. David could hear Xander’s and Dad’s voices:

  “Let me go!”

  “Just wait! Wait, I said!”

  David slammed into the door frame. Xander was on his back on the floor; Dad was sitting on him, gripping Xander’s shirt in his fists.

  Tears streamed out of Xander’s eyes. “You don’t care!” he yelled. “You let her get taken!”

  Dad pulled Xander up so they were nose to nose. Dad opened his mouth, then snapped it closed, pressing his lips tight. He stared into Xander’s eyes, and slowly his face softened. He whispered, “Don’t you think I want to do exactly what you’re trying to do? Don’t you think I want to go in after her too, just snatch her back? I do, Xander, I do. It’s just . . .” He looked up at David and Toria, standing in the doorway. “It’s not that easy. I’ve done this before. If we have any chance to find your mother—”

  “If?” Toria said.

  Dad looked at her sadly. “If we have any chance, any chance at all, it lies in being smart about it.” He lowered his hands until Xander’s head was back on the floor. “We can’t just go crashing over. It’s too dangerous. Your mother wouldn’t want that.” Dad stood and extended a hand to Xander.

  Xander glared at it, pushed himself up, and stood. He wiped the tears off his face, then he sat on the bench and looked at the floor.

  When neither of them spoke, David said, “So . . . what do we do?”

  “Now,” Xander said. “Not later—now.”

  Dad took a deep breath and looked around the room. “What did you see when the guy took Mom? In the room, I mean?”

  “It was snowy,” David said. “There was a white parka . . . and
snowshoes . . . gloves . . .”

  “Goggles,” Xander added.

  “Okay, so maybe the Arctic,” Dad said, thinking.

  “But she didn’t stay there,” Xander said.

  Their father cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t stay there long,” Xander said, sounding frustrated.

  David said, “We heard her in the hall. We ran out and she was trying to come through another door. Something . . .” A lump in his throat choked his words. “Something pulled her back in.”

  Dad stepped over to him and combed his fingers through David’s hair. “A different room? Not the Arctic one?”

  “We went in the antechamber,” David said. “There were pirate things. A sword and a three-cornered hat.”

  “Like Johnny Depp’s in Pirates of the Caribbean,” Xander said. Leave it to him to put it in movie terms

  Their father’s puzzled look deepened.

  “What’s it mean?” Xander asked.

  Dad shook his head. “Grandpa Hank said he thought there was a way to go from world to world without coming back through the house each time.”

  “Other portals?” David asked.

  “I don’t know. If so, he never found them. But if it’s true, she could be anywhere, in any world.”

  “We already figured that out,” Xander said.

  “And if there are other portals,” Dad said slowly, thinking it through, “it’d be like a combination lock. Every new portal would make the number of possible worlds she could have gone to increase exponentially.”

  Xander looked at him hard. “What are you saying? That it’s impossible?” He stood. “We haven’t even started, and you’re giving up?”

  “No, no,” Dad said. He reached out and laid his hand on Xander’s shoulder. Xander pulled away, but Dad continued: “It’s just that we have even more work ahead of us than I thought.”

  “So what do we do?” David said again.

  “Let’s look for those worlds,” Dad said. “The Arctic one and the pirates. She’s probably not in either one, not anymore, but it’s a place to start.”

  Xander said, “It’ll be faster if we split up. David and me. You and Toria.”

  Dad studied him. “Xander, look at me,” he said. “Can I trust you?”