Submersion by Guy A Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

was apt. In order to start the game, you had to hit a plastic dome in the centre, which in turn popped a dice. You needed to get a six to start and Elinor became quite vexed as this particular number eluded her, giving me a head start. Once you got a six, you were free to move one of four coloured pegs around a board; the first one to get all pegs home was the winner. Along the way, you could land on your opponent and send their pegs back to the start; a regular achievement on my part that also left my cousin aggravated.
    We played two more games of a similar quick-paced nature – Buckaroo and Mousetrap – and, after her third and fourth defeat, Elinor lost interest and occupied herself with a dressing-up trunk in one corner of the room. I tidied away the games we had played, carefully putting the items back in the plastic molds that kept them orderly, placing the lids on each box and returning them to the shelves from which they came. I scanned the shelves, reading the names of all the other activities they contained: Cluedo, Monopoly, Pictionary, Trivial Pursuit, Articulate, Yatzee; some of these I had heard mention of, but many were new to me. I wondered why Old Man Merlin had such an archive, when so many things, not just toys and games, had been lost – drowned, confiscated – over the years. I made a note to ask him.
    ‘Right, follow me,’ Elinor instructed, suddenly at my side. I looked at her and took in her face and costume. Her lips were curled into a giddy grin, a reflection of her joy at being dressed as a witch: a pointy hat and long purple velvet cloak. ‘There’s allsorts in the box. Have a look in a bit, but first follow me.’
    She led me back onto the circle landing and into another room, adjacent left. It was smaller and less cluttered than the games room. Elinor switched on an overhead light that hung, bare-bulbed, in the middle of the ceiling. In the centre – and taking up the vast majority of the space – was a large, oblong table with what appeared to be a model of a landscape, with a miniature rail-track running throughout it. I stared at it in silent wonder, my eyes absorbing every amazing detail. I had never seen anything quite like it. The track was laid out in a figure of eight; landmarks were sign-posted by tunnels, bridges, and four stations. The peripheral area was mapped-out with miniature trees, several buildings, including a windmill, and a lake. There were four tiny trains and each appeared to be hand-painted: one silver, one red, one black and one metallic-blue. The name Xavier was inscribed in gold paint on each vehicle; it wasn’t a name I was familiar with. A noise and sudden movement drew me from my thoughts: Elinor had flicked a switch, hidden under the table, and all four trains began to move along the circle of eight tracking. When each train reached a station, it stopped for a second, picking up invisible passengers and then continued on its way. There were sound effects, too: a warning horn was triggered when a train passed through a tunnel and a toot-toot when the trains crossed each other at a bridge – one travelling under, the other over.
    I could have stayed and watched the trains go round and round all day, but Elinor was keen to show me the rest of Merlin’s hoard. After briefly checking out the third room – another small room, populated with two fat arm chairs, shelves crammed with books of all height and thickness, their kaleidoscopic spines creating a pictureless wall-to-wall mosaic – she headed back to the iron spiral staircase and stepped up to the next floor.
    ‘He really doesn’t mind,’ Elinor reassured me, sensing my hesitation. This was only my second visit to the house and, unlike my cousin, I hardly knew this strange old man. ‘I pretty much have free range here. Come on, just to have a look. Then we can go if you’re still not happy.’
    So, I followed her up to the third storey.
    On first inspection, this level was less exciting. Whilst