The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters. Derek Landy
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dollhouse was magnificent. Front opening, with two stories and an attic space. It was the kind of thing Amber would have loved as a little girl, if only her parents had paid more attention to her subtle hints. If only her parents hadn’t been planning to murder her from the day she was conceived.
She peered through the little windows, saw furniture. Beds and dressers. Downstairs, there was a hall with a staircase, and a kitchen.
“Can you see anything?” Glen whispered from beside her.
Something moved past the window and Amber recoiled sharply.
There was a moment, while she stood there, the hair on her neck prickling and every instinct urging her to run, when she genuinely considered just calling up her parents and imploring them to rethink their plans and let her come home. She was ready, in that moment, to forgive them, to carry on with her life as if nothing had happened.
The moment passed.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?” she said. She peered closer, but it was dark in there. “Are you there? Dacre Shanks, can you hear me?”
No answer. At least none that she could hear.
Glen hunkered down to look through the side windows. “Maybe he’s sleeping,” he said, then knocked heavily on the roof. “Hey, wake up in there!”
Milo took hold of Glen’s wrist. “Please don’t do that to the serial killer.”
Glen took his hand back. “What? He lives in a dollhouse. He’s the size of Thumbelina, for God’s sake. You think he scares me?”
“It’s not about whether or not he scares you,” said Milo, “it’s the principle of the thing. Wherever possible, you do not antagonise serial killers. That’s just a general rule of life.”
“I don’t think it applies to serial killers you could fit in your pocket.”
“Quiet,” said Amber, leaning closer to the large upstairs window, the one looking on to the landing. Someone was standing there, very still. Someone who hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
“Hello? Mr Shanks?”
Then she heard it. They all heard it. A man’s voice. Quiet.
“Hello,” it said, from inside the dollhouse.
If a voice could crawl, this one did. It crawled over Amber’s face to her ears, scuttled in and burrowed its way into her brain. She could feel its legs, cold and frenzied. “You have my attention.”
Her mouth was dry. Her mouth was so dry. “Mr Shanks, my name is Amber. I need—”
“Pleased to meet you, Amber.”
For a moment, she couldn’t talk. “Yeah,” she said, feeling stupid and scared and childish. She was so very afraid. “I need your help. We’ve come—”
“And who are your companions?” Dacre Shanks asked in that creepy-crawly voice of his.
“Um, this is Milo and that’s Glen.”
“Hi,” said Glen. Even he sounded scared.
“Mr Shanks,” said Amber, “I’m here because I’ve been told you know of a man who tricked the Shining Demon – did a deal with him, then went on the run.”
There was a pause. “Ah yes,” came the voice from the window. “Indeed I do. I met him many years ago. Interesting fellow.”
“Do you happen to remember his name, or where I might find him?”
“I remember his name, yes, and I also know the town in which he was born. Would that be of any use to you in tracking him down?”
“Yes,” said Amber. “Very much so.”
There was a moment of silence from inside the dollhouse. “How nice,” said Shanks.
“Are you really tiny?” Glen asked suddenly, his curiosity overcoming his fear. “Can I see you?”
Milo put his hand on Glen’s shoulder to shut him up.
Amber glared, grateful to Glen for allowing her to focus on something she could scorn. Reluctantly, she looked back through the window.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “This man, could you tell me his name?”
Shanks said, “Forgive me for asking … Amber, wasn’t it? Forgive me for asking, Amber, and forgive me for being so crude, but what exactly is in it for me?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“If I tell you what you came here to learn, what do I get out of it?”
“I … I don’t know. What do you want? We can’t release you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll kill people.”
“And?” said Shanks.
“And it’ll be my fault.”
“And this would upset you?”
“Well, yes.”
“You are a curious girl. Tell me this – why do you want the man you seek?”
“I just want to talk to him,” said Amber, aware how pathetic this sounded.
“About the Shining Demon?”
“Yes.”
The man in the window moved slightly, and the light almost hit his face. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a tie. “You want to make a deal? Or you’ve already made one and you’re having second thoughts? Maybe I can help you. Release me and I’ll speak to the Shining Demon on your behalf.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Shanks, but you’re not getting out.”
“Then what else do you have to offer me? I am trapped in a dollhouse – what, apart from freedom, do you think I require? A pet?”
“We could get you a cute little convertible,” said Glen. “Maybe throw in a Barbie if you’re feeling lonely?”
Amber froze, awaiting Shanks’s response.
“Your friend is very rude,” he said eventually.
“I’m sorry,” she responded. “And he’s not my friend. Mr Shanks, you’re absolutely right, there is nothing I can offer you. We’re not releasing you. You’ve killed innocent people before and you will do it again. I can’t allow that to happen.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
“I guess we are.” She bit her lip. “So why not just tell me? You’re not getting out, right? So we’re not going to be making a deal here. If we’re not going to make a deal, there’s nothing you have to gain from this situation. And, if you have no chance of gaining anything, then you won’t have anything to lose by telling me what I want to know, will you?”
A low chuckle. “I see your logic. Cleverly done, young lady.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re wrong about me not having anything to gain. You see, I’ve been stuck here for … I actually don’t know how long.”
“Thirty-one years,” said Glen.
“Really? Well now … thirty-one years. Imagine that. In that case, I’ve been stuck here for thirty-one years. I can’t go insane and I can’t kill myself because I’m already dead. So I’ve been sitting here for thirty-one years, and I only rise out of my bored stupor when that door opens and little Heather Roosevelt pokes her pretty head in to make sure everything is still in place. Oh, but she’s not a Roosevelt anymore, is she? She got married. She won’t tell me to whom, but I saw the wedding ring – for as long as it was there. She’s getting old, though, isn’t she? Every time I see her, she is less and