100 Cupboards by N. D. Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

around his uncle, kicked off his shoes in the mudroom, and scrambled up both flights of stairs. In his room, he threw his blanket back onto his bed, kicked his filthy clothes from the night before underneath, grabbed his knife off his dresser, and then hurried back down. He found Uncle Frank sitting at the dining room table.
    â€œDon’t know why a boy shouldn’t run,” Frank was saying. “He’s just excited to get his knife sharp.” He was unrolling an old cloth. Aunt Dotty stepped in from the living room. She smiled.
    â€œCareful, Henry. You won’t have much knife left when he’s done, and he’s not too good at straight lines.” She ducked away before Frank could answer.
    â€œIt’ll be sharp!” he yelled after her. “Don’t know what she’s complainin’ about. Okay, Henry, fork it over.” Henry did, and Uncle Frank examined it.
    â€œTell you the truth, Henry,” he said, “I don’t know why I ever bought you this knife.”
    Henry’s heart sank. He had thought it was impossible for his uncle not to be suspicious about his blanket and all the plaster, and now trouble had finally come.
    â€œIt’s worthless,” Frank continued. “The blade’s already down to a nub and the tip’s broke off. I can still sharpen her up for you, but you need a new one. You take off and do whatever you wanna do. This will take me a little while. I’ll holler when I’m done.”
    â€œYour cousins are playing out in the barn if you like,” Dotty said from the living room, and the vacuum growled to life.
    â€œThanks!” Henry yelled. But he went upstairs to his room. When he got there, he found Henrietta kneeling on his bed, looking at the wall. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid.
    â€œI took the poster down already,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.” She glanced back at him and her smile was wide. She looked different without her thick curls, smaller even. Henry watched her put both hands on the wall and run them over the doors. “What are they all for?” she asked.
    â€œProbably to put things in,” Henry said. “I mean exciting things,” he added.
    Henry flopped down beside her, and the two of them stared at the little cupboard doors.
    â€œHow many more do you think there are?” Henrietta asked.
    â€œI bet they cover the whole wall,” Henry said.
    â€œYou tried to open every one?” She reached out and wiggled a knob.
    Henry nodded. “I did. I wrecked my knife getting the plaster off last night, and I won’t be able to use it tonight because your dad is sharpening it again. He’ll wonder if it’s dull again tomorrow.”
    Henrietta looked at him. “There are some old tools in the basement, and some more in the barn. I bet there’s a chisel. Do you want me to check?”
    â€œThat would be good,” Henry said. “It took me forever last night. I kept worrying that I was scratching the doors. I hope we don’t mess any of them up.”
    â€œI like the white one best,” Henrietta said, and pointed. “It looks happiest. Some of the other ones don’t seem to want to be here, but the white one seems just fine.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Henry sat up straight. “I think it looks neat, too, but how could it look happier than the others? I don’t think you can call them happy.”
    â€œWell, what about sad? That little metal one looks sad.” And she pointed again. It was the smallest door Henry had uncovered, no more than four inches tall by five inches wide, with a keyhole on the left side. Its metal surface was grooved and still held bits of plaster. A small black panel was inset toward the bottom.
    â€œI don’t think it looks sad at all,” Henry said. “It’s been stuck in the wall for however long. It’s probably glad to be out again.”
    â€œI