Read Online 100 Cupboards by N. D. Wilson - Free Book Online

Then he reversed direction and hurried back to his room.
    Sitting on his bed, Henry examined the new edge on his now-much-smaller knife blade. Frank had taken at least a third of the blade off, but it really was sharp. Henry was a little afraid to touch it. Still, he rubbed his thumb across the blade and knew that what he held was truly dangerous. It looked at Henry’s fingers in an insinuating way, as if to say, “You wouldn’t be the first. Why do you think they got rid of me?” The edge, as Dotty had warned, was not straight. Nor was the curve of the blade consistent. It was frozen in a ripple, like the surface of a windy lake.
    Henry bent down and scraped at the paint with his knife. It came off easily but in very narrow strips. It was not a large area, only an inch or so high and about three wide, but it took him a while. When the paint was finally off, the glass still did not look like anything you would be able to see through.
    Henry had put down his knife, cupped his hands over the glass, and was staring intently into complete lightlessness when he heard feet on the attic stairs. He knew it had to be Henrietta, but he still jumped and was outside of his room with the doors shut by the time she reached the top. She was lugging a cardboard box under one arm.
    â€œHi,” she said, smiling. “I brought a bunch of posters from the barn. Dad had a box he forgot about. They’re all the same basketball guy, and they say ‘University of Kansas, National Champions’ even though Dad says they weren’t that year. He thought he could sell them to people in England who wouldn’t know better, but they didn’t want them, so he says you can have them all. I brought tape, too, and a chisel. Why couldn’t Dad get Grandpa’s door open? Did you get the paint off?”
    She dropped the box of posters on the floor.
    â€œI stuck the chisel in the bottom.”
    â€œThanks,” Henry said. “I got the paint off, but I still can’t see anything. It’s all smeary.”
    They went into his room, and Henrietta examined the small door.
    â€œI think it’s a mailbox,” she said.
    â€œWhat do you mean a mailbox?” Henry ran his fingers over the grooves in the little door. “It doesn’t look anything like a mailbox.”
    â€œThe kind in post offices,” Henrietta said. “I used to go to the post office with Mom sometimes, and there are little boxes like this there.”
    â€œYou mean post office boxes?” Henry prodded the glass with his knife. “Why would there be a post office box in my bedroom?”
    Henrietta laughed. “Why would any of these be in your bedroom?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Henry said. “I guess someone could have just been a sort of collector. You know, of little things with doors. They must have just liked cupboards.”
    â€œNo,” Henrietta said. “It has to be more exciting than that.” Henrietta sat up on the bed and crossed her legs. “Somebody hid them all, so they’re supposed to be secret. We have to get them open and find out why.”
    â€œDo you think we’ll ever be able to see through this little one?” Henry cupped his hands against the small door and peered in. Henrietta pushed him out of the way. She licked and slobbered all over the ends of her fingers and then rubbed them on the glass. Then she pulled her sleeve down over her hand and wiped it clean.
    Henry looked in again. “It’s clear enough,” he said, “but I still can’t see anything. We need a flashlight.”
    â€œI’ve got one in my room.” Henrietta jumped up. It didn’t take her long to get it, and when she came back in, she closed both doors tight behind her and stepped over to Henry’s reading light. When she turned it off, the room was near pitch. Except for the trickle of daylight that filtered beneath the doors, there was no light at