Clive pushed open the heavy door of Clive’s House. BANG! A loose shutter slammed, and dust puffed from the old walls.
Clive jumped back. He reached toward the wall and thought, “What made that noise?”
Clive tapped the wall with his walking stick. Tap, tap, tap. A patch of plaster flaked away.
Under the plaster was a tiny painted ship. Clive leaned close as rain-scented air drifted through the open shutters.
Clive followed the marks through the rooms. They showed letters carried, people crossing, and the fort changing outside.
Each touch revealed another picture. Cr-r-rack! The old house seemed to remember every footstep.
Clive gave one last careful tap. The wall opened into a bright window of the past.
Voices, footsteps, and a clattering carriage rushed through the room. Clive dropped the stick and cried, “Oh!”
Clive closed the bright window. Then he brushed the dust from his hat.
The walls stood quiet. Present-day visitors stepped inside, and Clive pointed to the marks.