Read Online The Secret Room by Antonia Michaelis - Free Book Online

and corridors between me and the picture. I couldn’t get enough air, and I leaned against the ice-cold wall and reached for my inhaler.
    When I could breathe once more, my shaken thoughts slowly started to calm down again—like cocoa powder that settles back to the bottom of the cup.
    The people in the photographs—they were all the Nameless One’s prisoners.
    Many of them were waiting to finally become birds, many were waiting for the sadness to come to an end.
    They were all giving the owner of this palace his white and black tiles—their longing and their sadness. It had to be hundreds, thousands, millions.
    I tried to take the next photograph from the wall, but it was hung with a strong metal wire that wouldn’t give way. Was that it? Did I have to tear the photograph of the Ribbeks off the wall and take it out of the palace?
    I put my inhaler back and wanted to continue following the feather, but then I noticed that I wasn’t in the tiled corridor anymore.
    I was standing at a window in the secret room. A sweet-smelling flower petal was tickling my hand that was resting on the windowsill, and outside the birds were starting to put their heads under their wings to shield themselves from twilight’s melancholy.
    A hand touched my shoulder. I turned around and found myself looking into Arnim’s green, green eyes.
    â€œIs everything okay?” he asked, worriedly.
    I nodded. “Yeah ... of course. It’s just that... I found a picture, you know. In the palace. You were in it, and Ines and Paul, and there were many, many other pictures like it...”
    â€œAnd you’re going to take if off the wall?”
    I sighed. “I wish that I could, I really do wish that I could. But the wire that’s holding it is too strong.”
    â€œThen you have to cut it,” he said.
    Outside, there was a large black shadow circling in the sky.
    Arnim saw it too and pulled me away from the window.
    â€œGo now,” he whispered, “before he comes over here and discovers you. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
    That night, after dinner, Paul said, “We thought we could play something together tonight. Hear how the wind is whipping around the house?”
    I listened. “Hm-m,” I said.
    â€œOn nights like this you have to sit under a lamp and eat potato chips and play games,” Paul explained.
    I nodded, even though I actually felt too upset. The black and white photograph of Ines, Paul, and Arnim was stuck in my head and was gnawing away there like a rat.
    I helped Ines clean up while Paul looked for something in the living room.
    By then I knew very well what went where in the kitchen.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Ines. “You look so … stressed out.”
    â€œOh, no,” I quickly objected, “it just seems that way.”
    She looked at me from the side. “Are you feeling okay? Or are you hatching some kind of sickness?”
    â€œHatching?” It sounded funny. “Nah, I don’t think so. No sickness, no egg, nothing.”
    Ines laughed.
    â€œWell, all right, come on. Judging by the racket in the living room, Paul’s found what he was looking for.”
    And he had.
    As we entered the living room, I swallowed hard, because my worst fears had come true: Everything looked exactly like it had in the photograph.
    But of course not in black and white.
    The low-hanging lamp shone with its cozy light, there was a game board on the table with a bunch of small figures on it, and Paul was even crossing his eyes.
    â€œIt was hiding behind the cabinet,” he said and coughed. “I think I just swallowed two cups of dust.”

    Weak in the knees, I sat down on a corner of the sofa.
    Outside the wind rattled the shutters as if it were trying to play music.
    â€œArnim was still too little for it,” said Ines, nodding at the game board. “But he always insisted on playing it. He would watch us and