House of Stairs.
by William Sleator.
This book is dedicated to all the rats and pigeons who have already been here
Part One
Chapter 1.
The whirring around them had been going on for quite a long time. It sounded as though they were in an elevator, but the movement was so smooth that he could not tell whether they were being carried up or down or even to the side. Once again, as they had done several times in the past hour, his hands moved involuntarily to reach up and push the blindfold away from his eyes; and once again they were stopped by the cord that bound his wrists. But he did not struggle against the cord. Peter never struggled.
After a time the whirring stopped. The cord was removed, and he was pushed gently forward. Quick, efficient hands untied his blindfold and pulled it off. The door behind him slid shut, the whirring began, faded away, and he was alone.
For a moment he could not see, quickly closing his eyes against the white glare. He closed them again just as quickly, suddenly dizzy, after his first clear look at where he was. It was very cautiously that he opened them for the third time.
All he could see were stairs. The high, narrow landing on which he stood seemed to be the only flat place there was, and above and below him, growing smaller in the distance, were only flights of steps. Without railings they rose and fell at alarming angles, forking, occasionally spiraling, rising briefly together only to veer apart again, crossing above and below one another, connected at rare intervals by thin bridges spanning deep gulfs. Nothing supported them; the glossy white material from which they were made seemed to be strong enough to arch alone across great distances. They were not outdoors, the all-pervasive yet indirect glare came from artificial light, but he could see no walls, floor, or ceiling. Only stairs.
It was terrifying. The vast spaces on all sides of him, the precariousness of his position were enough to make his sight dim and the blood rush from his head. And the stairs, twisting around him in senseless complexity, endless, going nowhere, dizzied him, sending him stumbling backwards against- He spun around, stopping himself just in time from plunging into the gleaming white void behind him. There was nothing there but empty space, and more stairs. But the elevator-there had to be a wall for the elevator to move in! But there was nothing. It must have been some sort of electronic bucket on a chain. Shaking, he sank to his knees at the base of a flight of steps leading up from the landing. He wrapped his arms around himself and dropped his head onto his chest, closing his eyes, and tried his best not to move, or to think.
Why had they put him here? It must be some kind of punishment, but what had he done wrong? They had had been strange to him recently, he began to realize, going over the past week in his mind. The lingering looks he had noticed, as though he were ill; little extra gestures of concern, like the second piece of pie he had been given at lunch yesterday. While they had been happening he hadn't seen any significance to them, but now, putting them all together, a pattern began to emerge. But it was not a pattern that should have led to punishment; it was more as though they knew he was about to undergo a dangerous operation. been strange to him recently, he began to realize, going over the past week in his mind. The lingering looks he had noticed, as though he were ill; little extra gestures of concern, like the second piece of pie he had been given at lunch yesterday. While they had been happening he hadn't seen any significance to them, but now, putting them all together, a pattern began to emerge. But it was not a pattern that should have led to punishment; it was more as though they knew he was about to undergo a dangerous operation.
But it didn't make sense. This wasn't a hospital, and it was was punishment. It was horrible here. Even though his eyes were tightly shut he could not lose the feeling of where he was. The smallness and the vulnerability of his perch made his skin prickle and his head begin to spin again. punishment. It was horrible here. Even though his eyes were tightly shut he could not lose the feeling of where he was. The smallness and the vulnerability of his perch made his skin prickle and his head begin to spin again. No No! he tried to tell himself, Think about something else, think about being in bed, under the covers Think about something else, think about being in bed, under the covers. But before he could do that the other thought came, even more terrifying: How long am I going to be here? How long am I going to be here? Involuntarily he moaned. Involuntarily he moaned. Maybe it isn't just going to be for a few minutes or hours; maybe I'll be here for days; maybe forever. Maybe it isn't just going to be for a few minutes or hours; maybe I'll be here for days; maybe forever.
He couldn't bear it. Even an hour in this place would drive him mad. But maybe ... maybe there was a way out, maybe he could escape.
Slowly he opened his eyes. Very carefully he moved his head around, without getting up, and looked up the steps behind him. If he was going to find a way out, he might as well start there. But they were so narrow, vanishing up into whiteness, so steep, so high, and there were no railings. No, he couldn't go up them; he couldn't go down either. What if he should get dizzy again, and slip, or take the wrong step? No, it was safer to stay here, and wait. Perhaps something would happen; perhaps they had made a mistake, and someone would come and get him out. He closed his eyes again, pressing himself against the stairs.
Chapter 2.
Walking down the corridor at the old orphanage, the first orphanage, the one he loved. His room. His and Jasper's room. The window seat, the two beds. Jasper looking up from his desk, smiling, glad to see him. Jasper saying something. Something very important. The most important message, the secret message. But the buses, the buses were so loud, he couldn't hear him. "Louder, Jasper, louder!" But Jasper keeps smiling, keeps talking, doesn't notice. Millions of voices, and the matron and the doctor are there, and the wardens and the social workers, and the foster parents, and Jasper is off in the corner, he can't see him anymore, can't hear him. What was the message, Jasper? What was the message?
A shiver went through him. He swayed, lifting his sweaty forehead from his arms. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and that he must have been dreaming. The dream had been beautiful at the beginning, terrible at the end, but he longed to be in it again. If only he hadn't awakened!
That was when he noticed the figure moving far below him. A very small figure with dark hair, walking up a flight of steps. His heart began to beat furiously. He started to call out, but at the first croaking sound his voice caught in his throat, and he blushed. Very slowly and cautiously, resting his hand on a step, he stood up. He began to be conscious of the regular sound of footsteps in the vast quietness, as the person below marched up the stairs. Obviously it was someone familiar with this place, for there was no hesitation in his gait, no apprehension as he looked calmly from side to side. It must be someone coming to get him out. I have to call out to him I have to call out to him, Peter said to himself. What if he doesn't find me, and goes away, and just leaves me here? What if he doesn't find me, and goes away, and just leaves me here?
This thought was enough to bring out his voice. "Hey?" he said falteringly, and then more loudly, "Hey!" Still not a shout, but enough to make the figure below stop and look around. "Up here!" Peter stammered. "Above you!"
The black head below him suddenly became white as the person looked up at him. The hair was quite short, but the pointed face was thin and delicate, and Peter could not tell if it was a boy or a girl. The voice, however, though rather rough, was distinctly feminine. "Hey!" she shouted up at him, her words carrying clearly across the space between them. "What is is this?" this?"
"Wh-what?" Peter murmured, more to himself than to her. But that must mean she didn't know any more than he did! The disappointment made him feel faint. "But don't you know?" he said.
"Speak up!" she shouted, her hand at her ear. "Can't hear you!"
"But don't you even know know?" he screamed, clenching his fists, his throat suddenly clogged with tears. "Don't you know know?"
"No, I do not not know!" she shouted back, her hands on her hips, "but I'm gonna find out pretty quick." And she began running up the stairs. know!" she shouted back, her hands on her hips, "but I'm gonna find out pretty quick." And she began running up the stairs.
As she bounded toward him, he reflected that even if she couldn't get him out, it was probably better to have her here than to be alone. Although she was was a bit frightening; he wished it could have been someone who seemed gentler. He looked aside as she reached his landing, too shy to meet her gaze. a bit frightening; he wished it could have been someone who seemed gentler. He looked aside as she reached his landing, too shy to meet her gaze.
She was a little shorter than he, and had to stand quite close, the landing was so small. He turned to look at her. But the black eyes in her olive-skinned face were so direct and penetrating, yet speculative, that he quickly looked away again.
"So you don't know where the hell we are either?" she said.
Peter shook his head, a little startled by her use of profanity. "No ... um, somebody ... they just took me here, they blindfolded me and just left me here. I don't know anything."
"Me either. And they pulled that blindfold stunt on me, too. I knew they had it in for me, but I never thought they'd do anything like this this. Who brought you here, anyway? I mean, you must have known who it was, if they took you away from home and all."
"But they didn't. I mean ... I don't have a home. I don't have any parents. I live in an orphanage."
"So do I."
"You do?"
She nodded.
"So today they just called me to the office," he continued, looking down at his feet, "and blindfolded me, and told me to go with the person who was there. And they tied my hands-"
"Can't you talk any louder? I'm right next to you and I can hardly hear a thing you're saying."
He raised his voice with an effort. "And took me in this car, and brought me here, and took the blindfold off, and that's all."
"Yeah, same with me. Except I thought I knew what they were doing. They'd been threatening to throw me in reform school for months, and after that last little trick I pulled-" She paused and chuckled to herself, "-after that that, I thought, sure thing, they finally did it. But you- hey, look at me, I don't bite-"
He raised his head, his eyes wavering across her face.
"You don't exactly seem the type who'd do anything, ah, anything they'd get after you for."
"No," he said, "I never did anything they didn't like. That's why I can't understand why ... why they did did this to me." this to me."
"Yeah. Well I don't get it either, because if you're here it couldn't be like a punishment thing. So you're an orphan, too. That's kind of interesting. It must mean some something...."
"Mmm," he said. It was awkward, standing so close to her, so carefully he stepped back and sat down on the second step, looking over both sides to make sure he was exactly in the middle.
"But the question is, how do we get out?" she went on. "Got any ideas?"
He shook his head.
"Yeah. Well, let's see...." She was wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt, standing with her feet apart and her arms folded across her thin chest. She took a package of cigarettes out of her pants pocket and held it out to him; he shook his head. Smoking was a serious offense, but she seemed perfectly comfortable as she pulled out a cigarette with her lips, lit the match with one hand and brought it to the tip of the cigarette, then flicked the match down into the void.
"Let's see," she continued, blowing out smoke. "The thing I can't figure out is, are we aboveground, underground, or what. I mean, if we knew we were aboveground, the way out would be down there; if we knew we were under underground, the way out would be up. Could you tell, when they brought you here?"
"No."
"Neither could I. That must have been part of it, the rats; not to let us know where we are."
"What-" He hesitated, then went on. "What was the ... the trick you said you did?"
"Huh? Oh, that that!" She smiled. It was a conspiratorial smile; and her eyes, wrinkling at the corners, lost some of their wariness. "See, there's this big cow of a matron at the house I live in, and she really hates my guts. God, all the extra stuff I always have to do! And lectures, 'Young ladies don't do this, young ladies don't do that,' it all made me want to puke. So the other day ..." She giggled, "I snuck into the science room (you can get past the electric eyes if you crawl, you know), and there's this snake there, in a cage. Just a black snake, scared to death of people. So I broke open the cage and took the snake-"
"You picked it up?"
"Sure. Why not? And I took it down the hall-I had to hide it under my shirt so they wouldn't see it on the video screens-and got into the matron's room. That was kind of tricky, I had to get in through the window by climbing out along this ledge with that snake squirming all over me. And then I put it in her bed, and got the hell out of there. Not that it made any difference; she knew it was me, of course."
"But what happened?"
"Well, I sort of wanted to hang around that end of the building, but of course there's bed check, and anyway, it would have been kind of suspicious. It didn't matter in the end, the way she yelled, the whole dormitory heard it. Everybody sat up in bed, saying, 'What's that? What's that?'" She mimicked mousy feminine voices. "But I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give myself away." She took a deep drag on her cigarette and dropped it casually over the edge. "They dragged me into her office the next morning, and she didn't even bawl me out, she was just real quiet and tense, it was kind of scary. But worth it, to hear the old cow scream like that.... Anyway, that was two days ago, and now they blindfold me and bring me here. I thought it was because of that, but now, I don't know."
"Mmmm," Peter said.
"You sure don't talk much. What's your name? Mine's Lola."
"Peter."
"How old are you? I'm sixteen."
"So am I."
"Hmmm, that's also kind of interesting. Both from state 'homes'"-she said the word with an ironic twist-"and both sixteen."
"I don't care if it's interesting or not," he forced himself to say. "I just want to get out of here. I hate hate it!" it!"
"Well, if you hate it so much, kiddo, why don't you do something about it?"
"Oh, I don't know...." His voice trailed off again from its brief emotional burst, returning to the barely audible murmur in which he habitually spoke. "What is there to do? Just ..." He sighed, "just wait until they come to get us out."
"But who says they're gonna gonna come and get us out, huh? come and get us out, huh? I'm I'm not gonna wait around in this ... this ..." She gestured, "this ... not gonna wait around in this ... this ..." She gestured, "this ... place place till some administrator out there remembers we're here. I'm gonna find the way out. And if you don't want to stay here till you starve to death, I'd advise you to come with me. I don't know what they're trying to do, but I don't trust them, not one little bit. Come on!" till some administrator out there remembers we're here. I'm gonna find the way out. And if you don't want to stay here till you starve to death, I'd advise you to come with me. I don't know what they're trying to do, but I don't trust them, not one little bit. Come on!"
"But...." He remembered how confidently she had negotiated the steps, and his own fears. But she was probably right; his only hope was to go with her. He got to his feet, rather unsteadily, not looking down.
"Now, up or down? Don't you have any ideas?" She paused only briefly. "All right, I'll say ... down. This place is just too big to be underground." And she started down the steps at a quick pace.
He began following her very slowly. It was horrible; every time he took a step he pictured himself plunging forward into empty space. He went carefully, setting both feet firmly on each step before descending to the next. Very soon she was far below him.
She stopped to wait for him at another small landing. "Can't you go any faster?" she said when he approached.
"We'll never get anyhere at this rate."
"But I ..." he began. It was useless; she, who was so unafraid, would never understand. The hopelessness of the situation rose up inside him in a wave of self-pity. He swallowed, unable to keep his eyes from filling with tears.
She was watching his face. "Oh, well," she said, her voice suddenly softer. "Big deal. It probably doesn't make any difference anyway. Go as slow as you want. I'll stay with you."
She kept just ahead of him as they went on, turning back often to talk. "So what's your life story? What about your parents? Did you ever know them?"
"No. I ... can't remember anything about them. They told me that my father ... died in the war-"
"Same as everybody else."
"-and my mother ... she died in a car crash."
"What kinda place they put you in?"
"Oh ... different ones."
"Yeah? What were they like?"
He thought of the first place, the one they had moved him from just three years ago. It had been an old building, with windows that opened and every room a different shape, with beds and desks that weren't part of the wall and they let you move around the way you wanted. The one where the matron had especially liked him, and the teachers had been interesting and kind. The one where he and Jasper had been roommates, and best friends. Jasper, who had always taken care of him. He would probably never see Jasper again....
"Well?"
"Oh." He had forgotten where he was, losing himself in memories; but somehow he had managed to keep walking. "I was in one place ... for a long time. It was ... it was real good there." She looked back, noticing the new sound in his voice, then turned quickly away. "But then, they moved me, three years ago, to another place-"
"The rats!" she interrupted quietly, but with surprising vehemence.
"-that was real big, and ... I didn't know anybody. Then they kept moving me to different ones, because I kept ... not adjusting. And then, today I thought, I thought they were just taking me to another one."
"Yeah," she said, and stopped walking. They had reached another landing, where the stairway divided into three parts: two flights going up, and a narrow bridge without railings fifteen feet long, connecting to another flight. There was still no bottom in sight, just more stairs crisscrossing below them.
"We're not getting anywhere," Lola said, looking down. "Except it seems like there's more stairs down there, closer together." She turned to him. "Listen, we're gonna have to cross that bridge. I know you don't want to, but it's the only way to keep going down. I'll go first."
The bridge was only about a foot wide, arching slightly. Even Lola seemed rather hesitant as she stepped onto it, and it took Peter nearly ten minutes to inch his way across. Down they continued, until suddenly Lola stopped short and he almost bumped into her. "Wait a minute," she said slowly. "Something weird here.... It's getting harder and harder to go down. I mean, there's all those stairs down there but...." From the landing below them, three flights went up, none went down. "But it's like they don't want us to get to them." She looked behind her. "Sorry, kid, but we're gonna have to go back and take that bridge up there. This way goes nowhere."
Backtracking became more frequent, for it was difficult to see very far ahead, and any direction that looked promising seemed eventually to direct them upward again. Nevertheless there were always stairs below them to hide whatever bottom there might be. Their progress became more horizontal than vertical, with more bridges to negotiate, and these continued to be a trial for Peter. At last Lola noticed his shaken condition. "Hey, wanna sit down?" she said, as they stepped off a bridge onto a landing hardly big enough for them both.
"Oh, yes," he said gratefully, and immediately sat down on a step. Lola reclined across from him, stretching out her legs and resting her feet on either side of his. She lit another cigarette, then put her hands behind her head as she puffed, the cigarette dangling from her thin lips.
"Now I'm beginning to figure this place out," she said. "Maybe there is is a way out down there, or up there," she jerked her head in that direction. "But they don't want us to get to it. These cruddy stairs just don't connect. There's no way to get to those stairs down there." a way out down there, or up there," she jerked her head in that direction. "But they don't want us to get to it. These cruddy stairs just don't connect. There's no way to get to those stairs down there."
"Mmm," he said. Inside himself he knew that the situation was, of course, hopeless; and that it was only a matter of time until even she would have to give up. But in the meantime it was diverting to follow along after her; there was, after all, nothing else to do, except dream.