The Paradise Trap (5 page)

‘Edison! Come back!’ Marcus cried. But Edison had already jumped into a shiny red dodgem car. There must have been about a dozen cars sliding around in their fenced arena, which Marcus reached just ahead of the first plush animal. He slammed into a brightly coloured perimeter fence, then stretched out an arm towards the younger boy.

The dodgems, however, weren’t about to let go of Edison. Cursing and muttering, they jostled their way between Marcus and his friend, nudging Edison’s bright red car until it had been pushed to the other side of the arena. Trying to catch up with Edison was impossible; every time Marcus moved, the dodgems moved along with him, making sure that Edison was well out of his reach even as they ploughed into each other. ‘Ow!’ the cars snapped. ‘Look out!’ ‘Get off!’ ‘Watch where you’re going!’

They seemed very bad-tempered.

‘
Edison!
’ Marcus bawled, trying to make himself heard over the jangling carnival music – which grew louder and louder as he raised his voice. Edison was laughing. The dodgem cars were snarling and swearing. Sideshow patter was blaring through a loudspeaker: ‘Step right up, Edison! Try your luck and win a buck . . .’

By this time the plush animals had caught up with Marcus. He had a blue gorilla wrapped around one leg and a snow leopard hanging off one arm. The clowns were spitting ping-pong balls at his head. The inflatable aliens were arming themselves with hoops and popguns. Off in the distance, a crowd of gibbering, fluorescent skeletons had spilled out of the ghost train.

‘Edison!’ Marcus bellowed. ‘You can’t stay here! It’s a trick! It’s not real!
Edison!
’

He swatted away the fluffy pink kangaroo that was trying to plaster itself to his face. Plush animals were piling up around his body like a multi-coloured snowdrift; there were sheep and tigers and dolphins and zebras and ducks and bees and teddy bears, all snuggling up to each other.

It occurred to him that, if he didn’t move, he was going to suffocate under half a tonne of fake fur. So he retreated a few steps, kicking kittens and punching puppies.

That was when he spotted the ferris wheel, which was rolling across the grass towards him.

‘Bye, Edison!’ Marcus squawked, before dashing away at top speed. He didn’t think twice. He didn’t look back. He simply charged along, shaking off fluffy animals and telling himself that this was all a bad dream – that the Edison he’d left in the dodgem car didn’t really exist.

Then a dreadful thought struck him. Would the exit still be there?

Oh, please
, he prayed,
please, please let it still be there!

And it was. As he careened past the fairy-floss stand, he caught sight of a shadowy rectangle piercing the brick wall up ahead. This wedge of darkness was the door to the cellar; Marcus recognised the rickety staircase that was visible just beyond its battered wooden frame. So he swerved towards it, dimly conscious of the heavy rumble pursuing him.

He was short of breath. His heart was thumping. His legs were hurting. Upon finally reaching the threshold, he threw himself across it in a diving tackle.

WHOMP!
The door slammed shut.

Marcus lay on the cellar floor. ‘Aah . . . aah . . . aah,’ he panted. Everything was dark and silent. He could smell only damp earth and mould.

It took him a moment to realise that he’d dropped his torch somewhere inside his hallucination.

10

GETTING HELP

M
ARCUS DIDN
’
T DARE OPEN THE CELLAR DOOR AGAIN
. Instead he staggered upstairs, looking for Edison. Surely the
real
Edison hadn’t been left behind in that bright red dodgem car? Surely he was lying unconscious near the gas leak, gripped by hallucinations of his own?

But the caravan was empty. There was no smell of gas. And when Marcus checked outside, he couldn’t see Edison anywhere.

The only familiar face that he
could
see belonged to the little white dog.

‘Oh, man . . .’ Marcus groaned, as the white dog yipped and grinned and danced about. It followed him all the way back to the beach, never once stopping to lift its leg or sniff at a car tyre. Even though Marcus ran the whole distance, from one end of the park to the other, his little white companion somehow managed to keep up.

By the time Marcus reached the Huckstepps’ place, he was shaking and sweating. ‘Is Edison home?’ he demanded, when Prot answered his knock.

‘You are not authorised to receive that information,’ the robot replied.

‘
Edison!
’ Marcus shouted. ‘
Hey, Edison!
’ He was desperate to hear the younger boy’s voice.

‘Please wait here,’ said Prot. But Marcus ignored this request. He lurched past the robot into the vestibule. ‘
Edison!
’ he cried. ‘
Can you hear me?
’

‘No dogs,’ the robot warned. ‘No dogs allowed.’ At that very instant, a cat emerged from the living room; there was a volley of angry barks, followed by a feline hiss of outrage.

Marcus grabbed the dog before it could launch itself at the cat.

‘Choo-choo?’ Coco’s high-pitched call drifted into the vestibule. ‘Darling? What’s wrong?’

‘No dogs allowed,’ Prot repeated.

‘I know that! Jeez! I heard you already!’ Marcus grappled with the dog, shoving it back outside just as Coco entered the room. Prot shut the front door so quickly that Marcus nearly lost a hand.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Coco. ‘Was that a dog I heard?’

‘Don’t worry. It’s gone,’ Marcus assured her. His breathing was still ragged. ‘Is Edison here?’

‘Edison?’ she said vaguely, as if she’d never heard of him. Then she addressed the robot. ‘Is Edison here?’

‘Edison left the caravan exactly forty-three minutes ago, using this exit,’ Prot reported. ‘He has not yet returned.’

‘Are you sure?’ Marcus pressed. ‘Are you
absolutely
positive
?’

‘What’s the matter?’ Holly interrupted, from the bathroom doorway. For a split-second Marcus didn’t recognise her, because her face was caked with green goo and her hair was tucked into a shower cap. A pink towel had been draped around her shoulders. ‘Are you all right, Marcus?’

‘Edison didn’t come back.’ Marcus spoke in a strangled whisper. ‘He – he must still be down there.’

‘Down where?’ said Holly.

Marcus swallowed. He sensed that no one would believe what he was about to say.

‘Down in the cellar of our caravan,’ he croaked.

There was a brief, stunned silence. The two women stared at him.

‘I know it sounds crazy, but there’s a cellar under our caravan,’ Marcus continued. ‘We found it. And we went through one of the doors at the bottom of the stairs, and there was this fairground full of talking rides, and the dodgems kidnapped Edison, and I had to get out or I would have been squashed by a runaway ferris wheel . . .’

He trailed off as Coco glanced nervously at his mother. But Holly wasn’t looking frightened, astonished, or even mildly concerned. She just smiled and nodded.

‘That sounds like a nice game, sweetie,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re having so much fun.’

‘But—’

‘I’m kind of busy right now, though. When I’m done in the bathroom, you can tell me all about it . . .’

‘Wait! Mum!’

Holly, however, wouldn’t listen. She vanished again, leaving a heavy, herbal scent in the air.

Coco pursued her with many anxious words of advice. ‘Now don’t just peel that off, Holly – you have to
soak
it first – let me do it, or you’ll ruin your nails . . .’

Defeated, Marcus hurried upstairs.

‘Hey, Newt!’ he yelled. ‘You’ve got to help me!’ Knowing that Edison’s sister wouldn’t want to be pestered – and that she would scoff at the very idea of a talking dodgem car – he didn’t mention fairgrounds at all. ‘Edison’s stuck!’ he exclaimed, bursting into her room. ‘He’s trapped under our caravan! You’ve got to come quick!’

Newt was still lying on her beanbag. When Marcus appeared, she simply rolled over to face the wall.

‘It’s nothing,’ she muttered into her phone. ‘It’s just one of Edison’s stupid friends . . .’

‘Hey!’ Marcus didn’t have time for diplomacy. ‘Your mum won’t listen! We’ve got to help your brother!’

‘Go away,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m on the phone.’

Marcus stood for a moment, gazing helplessly at the back of her head. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. He could sympathise with her point of view. But something was very wrong and he couldn’t fix it by himself.

So he snatched the phone from her ear.

‘
Oi!
’ She whipped around. ‘Give that back!’

‘You’ve got to come,’ he replied. ‘Edison needs you.’

‘Give that back
right now!
’ she roared, throwing herself at him. He retreated. She lunged again.

Then he turned on his heel and ran, heading downstairs and out the front door.

11

BACK TO THE CELLAR

N
EWT GAVE CHASE
. A
S
M
ARCUS BURST OUT OF THE
Huckstepps’ caravan, she was close on his heels. But her bare feet slowed her down; despite the fact that Marcus was growing tired, the distance between them gradually lengthened.

He didn’t want it to lengthen too much. By staying just ahead of her, he was hoping to lure her all the way back to his own caravan – where he would show her the fairground in the cellar. Maybe
she
would know what to do about Edison. Because Marcus was stumped.

‘You drop that
now!
’ Newt screamed. Marcus, however, kept running. He soon left behind all the astroturflawns and expensive European cars. The caravans grew smaller as the crowds grew bigger, until clots of sunburned tourists started getting in his way. To avoid them, he dodged down a side street, narrowly missing the washing lines and volleyball nets that were stretched across his path. He skidded on a spilled slushie. He jumped over an inflatable pool. He passed a makeshift playground where some kids had constructed a slide out of a surfboard and a swing out of a hammock.

Behind him, Newt and the white dog jostled for position.

‘
I’m going to kill you!
’ Newt warned Marcus, her voice cracking. By this time she was red-faced and pouring sweat; with her pale skin and layers of black lycra, she looked grossly out of place, like a bat in a dovecote. ‘You are
so
going to pay for this!’

In the end, though, Marcus didn’t pay for anything. Because when Newt finally stumbled into his caravan, she was so exhausted that she could only collapse onto the nearest bench, gasping and moaning.

Marcus checked the other bench, which he’d slammed shut earlier. Sure enough, when he lifted its seat, he saw that the cellar was still there.

‘Hey, Newt,’ he piped up. ‘Do you want to see this? You’ll freak, I promise.’

‘It stinks in here,’ was her unexpected rejoinder. After gulping down a few more lungfuls of air, she added, ‘It smells like cat pee.’

‘Cat pee?’ Marcus was puzzled. ‘
I
think it smells like sweaty gym clothes.’

But Newt ignored him. ‘And what the hell is that for?’ she continued, staring at the little white dog. ‘Did
you
do that?’

‘No,’ said Marcus.

‘You shouldn’t put goggles on a dog! It’s cruel!’

‘I know,’ said Marcus. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Poor thing . . .’ Newt reached for the dog, which didn’t try to run away. When she picked it up, it licked her face enthusiastically. ‘What a cute little fella,’ she said, as she peeled off its goggles.

‘Uh . . . yeah,’ Marcus agreed. ‘But you should probably take a look at this.’

‘I’m more of a dog person than a cat person. Not like Mum.’ Having removed the dog’s waterwings, Newt glared at Marcus. ‘Now – are you going to gimme that phone?’ she challenged. ‘Or do you want me to punch your head in?’

Marcus wasn’t about to put up a fight. He raised his sweaty hands in a gesture of submission. ‘You can have it! You can have the phone!’ he promised shrilly, waving it at her. ‘Just as soon as you check out the cellar!’

‘Huh?’

‘There’s a cellar under this seat.’ Marcus pointed.

‘Really?’ Newt seemed surprised, though not stunned. ‘You should tell my dad,’ she remarked. ‘He’s trying to build a wine cellar underneath
our
caravan.’

‘Edison’s down there,’ Marcus continued doggedly, ‘and he won’t come out. Not for me, anyway. So I figured he might listen to you.’

Newt sniffed. ‘Oh, he’ll listen to me, all right,’ she growled. Then she stood up and approached Marcus, still nursing the little white dog.

He stepped aside so she could peer downstairs.

‘Mmph.’ After a moment’s pause, she cleared her throat. ‘
Hey, Edison!
’ she shouted. ‘
If you’re waiting to
jump out and scare me, don’t! Or Dad’s going to know what
you did to his portable wind turbine!’

No one answered.

‘He probably can’t hear you,’ Marcus offered at last, in a very small voice. ‘He’s behind a closed door . . .’

Newt snorted impatiently. ‘You guys are such jerks,’ she snapped, before scrambling over the side of the bench and stomping down into the cellar. Marcus followed her, using the pale glow of her illuminated phone screen to light his way. He was worried that she might hurt herself in the dimness. He was concerned about the little white dog, which remained tucked under her arm. And he wanted to warn her about the ferris wheel.

‘Uh . . . Newt?’ he began, then caught his breath.

There were now
three
doors at the foot of the stairs – not two – and one of them was a catflap.

Or was it a doggie door?

‘Okay,’ Newt said to him. ‘So where’s Edison?’

‘Um . . .’ Marcus hesitated. ‘Well, he
was
through there, but—’

‘
Edison!
’ Newt yelled, interrupting Marcus. ‘
You’d
better come out!
’

‘—but last time I was down here, there was no catflap,’ Marcus finished anxiously. ‘So I don’t know if he’s still behind the same door or not.’

‘
Edison!
’