But behind those whispers, she was sure she heard another voice warning her: Go back. Get out!
The truth was, Vi hated the basement. Everything about it frightened her: the darkness; the noises the animals made; the way the smells of formaldehyde, rubbing alcohol, and bleach all mingled and got caught in her nose and the back of her throat, making her feel like she couldn’t breathe.
She wanted to get this over as fast as possible. Take a quick look and get out. She drew a deep breath to try to relax herself as she looked around.
A row of shelves on the left was lined with medical books and jars of different things floating in cloudy formaldehyde: animal brains, a fetal pig, the heart of a deer. The tiny pig frightened her the most: its perfect little white body, tiny snout and hooves, all curled up like it was sleeping, still waiting to be born. Every time she saw it, she half expected it to open its eyes, kick out at the glass, swim up to the surface of the jar gasping for air.
Along the right wall of the basement, shelves held the wire cages full of mice and rats used for experiments—all albino, their eyes glowing red like tiny demons. The mice ran round and round on squeaky metal wheels, going nowhere.
Beside the cages, leaning against the wall, was the wooden maze Gran used with the mice and rats, testing how different medications and treatments affected the rodents’ ability to navigate.
At the far end of the basement, a lamp and a microscope sat on a long worktable.
In the middle of the room stood the stainless steel dissection table. Gran was fascinated by the brain: not just the thoughts and emotions it engendered, but the actual physical gray matter. She spent a lot of time studying animal brains, taking thin slices of them and turning them into slides so she could look at them up close. Like maybe sickness and insanity touched each cell, like the key to fixing it might be hidden there.
Vi stood frozen, listening to the mice and rats: Go back, go back, they seemed to chatter. We’ll tell on you. Tell her you were here.
She had never disobeyed Gran. Not once. Not ever.
Doing this felt all wrong and made her head and whole body feel all tangled up. But at the same time, it gave her this strange rush. She was Gran’s good girl, but here she was doing something truly bad. Something against all the rules.
But Gran wasn’t going to catch her. They’d worked out a plan.
Eric and Iris were upstairs, standing guard.
Iris was perched at the top of the stairs, ready to signal. If Gran was coming, she would flash the lights: off, on; off, on. Eric was by the front door, watching. If he saw Gran coming across the yard from the Inn, he’d give Iris the signal, then run and stall Gran before she got to the house, giving Vi time to put things right in the basement and get upstairs.
“Stall her how?” Vi had asked.
“I don’t know.” He’d shrugged. “Maybe I’ll tell her I saw Big White Rat? Caught him even, but he got away.”
Vi had nodded. It was a good plan.
She walked deeper into the basement, looking around, unsure what she was even looking for, but feeling there was a clue waiting for her. She also had the strange sense that she wasn’t alone down there—that someone was watching her. She searched the dark shadows, knowing it was foolish, knowing she was alone, yet the feeling lingered.
The mice and rats rustled in their cages, seemed to call out, This way, this way if you dare. She turned and went over to the rodents, all white, all lined up in wire cages with numbers written on the front.
“Can’t you give them actual names?” Eric complained whenever he came down and saw the numbers on the cages.
“Do you think they really mind?” Gran asked with an indulgent smile.
“I would if I were them. Being called Number 212 instead of Eric.”