The House with a Clock In Its Walls Read Online Free Page B

there was a small, white plastic clock buzzing on the mantel. Jonathan unplugged it without saying anything and went on to the next room, where he stopped a cherrywood clock with a pendulum that used three columns of mercury as a weight. And then on to the next room.
    The last clock to be silenced was the grandfather clock in the study. Jonathan’s study had a very high ceiling, and all the walls were lined with books. There was a fat, slouchy, brown-leather easy chair that hissed when you sat down in it and, of course, there was a fireplace, andthere was still a fire burning in it. Over in a corner by the sliding doors that opened into the dining room stood the tall gloomy clock. The brass disk on the pendulum flashed dimly in the light of the dying fire. Jonathan reached inside and grabbed the long black rod. The clock stopped.
    Now that their strange tour was over, Jonathan lapsed into silence. He seemed to be thinking. He walked over to the fireplace, stirred up the fire, and put on another log. He threw himself down into the leather chair and waved his arm at the green easy chair on the other side of the fireplace.
    “Have a seat, Lewis. I’d like to have a talk with you.”
    Lewis wondered if he was going to get bawled out for sneaking up on his uncle. It didn’t seem likely. Jonathan looked and sounded friendly, though his voice was still a little edgy. Lewis sat down and watched as Jonathan lit up his hookah. Lewis always liked to watch him do this. The hookah was shaped like a Spanish galleon, and the crow’s nest on the mainmast was the bowl. The body of the ship was full of water for cooling the smoke, and up on the bow stood the tiny ceramic figure of a boatswain with his pipe to his lips. A long hose was plugged into the ship’s stern, and there was a black rubber mouthpiece on the end. When you blew into the hose, the burning tobacco in the crow’s nest sent up a long column of smoke, and the boatswain went
fweee!
on his little pipe. Sometimes, when Jonathan made a mistake and filled the boat too full of water, the boatswain went
blp!
and blew bubbles.
    When Jonathan had the pipe going good, he drew in a big mouthful of smoke, let it out slowly, and said, “Lewis, I think it would be better for you to be scared than it would be for you to think of your uncle as a crabby old lunatic.”
    “I don’t think you’re crabby,” said Lewis.
    Jonathan laughed. “But you
do
think I’m off my rocker. Well, after tonight I wouldn’t blame you.”
    Lewis blushed. “No, Uncle Jonathan! I never meant that! You know I don’t think . . . ”
    Jonathan smiled. “Yes, of course, I know. But all the same, I think it would be better if you knew something about this clock business. I can’t tell you all about it because I don’t know all about it. In fact, there are times when I think I don’t know much about it at all. But I’ll tell you what I know.”
    He crossed his legs, sat back, and puffed some more at his pipe. Lewis sat forward in the big green chair. He kept clasping and unclasping his hands and he stared hard at Jonathan. After a brief dramatic pause and a particularly long drag at the galleon-hookah, Jonathan began.
    “I haven’t lived in this house always, Lewis. In fact, I only moved here five years ago. I used to live down on Spruce Street, near the waterworks. But when the oldowner died, and the place was put up for sale cheap, and it meant a chance to live next door to my best friend, Mrs. Zimmermann—”
    “Who was the old owner?” asked Lewis, interrupting.
    “I was going to get around to that. His name was Isaac Izard. Initials I.I., like a Roman numeral II. You’ll find his double
I
carved or painted or stamped on all sorts of things all over this house: the wainscoting, the floorboards, the insides of cupboards, the fuse box, the mantelpieces—everywhere. You’ll even find a Roman numeral II worked into the tracery on the wallpaper in the upstairs front hallway.” Jonathan