“Help!” Leila cries, but no one answers. “Someone, please help me!” Terrified, she stares around at the deserted attic filled with wooden trunks, dust-covered toys, and cobwebs. Something scurries across the floor; she pulls her knees up to her chest. “Please! Open the door!”
Until fifteen minutes ago, she had been having a wonderful time with Pauline in her family’s rambling old house. There was clutter everywhere: stacks of books and magazines, old clocks. You name it, there was a pile of it. While Pauline and her new friend were practising taking fingerprints from doorknobs and bed posts and mirrors, Mr. Mafuso had been occupied in the kitchen, making dinner. Mrs. Mafuso was apparently out of town, visiting her sister who’d had an operation, he’d explained to their visitor. The uncle w
