But they were all sealed shut.
Peter gestured toward the back of the house.
Just around the back corner we found one of those slanting cellar doors. It was padlocked shut.
But the wood was half-rotted, and when Peter shook the lock, the whole thing came loose in his hand. He set it aside and carefully lifted the door. It creaked for an eternity as it came open. I found myself staring down into a well of perfect blackness.
"Dark," I whispered.
"Sure is," said Peter.
Then he took a step forward.
I followed him, wondering if Broxholm had booby-trapped the place. Then I wondered what kind of booby traps an alien would use: lasers that would cut us off at the knees? Stun guns? Freeze rays? Hey, these guys had come here from another star system. Who knew what they could do?
We walked down eight concrete steps. At the bottom we came to a wooden door so old it had a latch instead of a knob. Peter lifted the latch and pushed. Nothing. He put his shoulder against the door and shoved again. It swung open with an eerie creak.
"After you, madam," he whispered.
"Well, at least shine your flashlight in there," I hissed.
He pointed his beam through the door. I couldn't see anything special—just a dusty cellar, the kind you'd expect in an old house.
"Let's go together," I whispered.
Peter took pity on me, and we stepped through the door side by side.
"I don't think we're going to find anything down here," he said, shining his light around the cellar. I agreed. Except for the furnace, the stairs up to the first floor, and the cobwebs, the space was completely empty.
Without speaking, he headed for the stairway. I ran into a cobweb. I shivered when the wispy, clinging threads brushed over my forehead.
"You don't suppose Broxholm has any friends here, do you?" whispered Peter when we were about halfway up the stairs.
I stopped. "I don't think so," I said after a minute. "He didn't mention any when he was talking to the guy in the spaceship."
Peter nodded. But he had managed to make me even more nervous than I had been to begin with. What if there was another alien here? What would he do if he caught us snooping around?
"Where to?" asked Peter when we reached the top of the stairs.
"Let's try the kitchen," I said, remembering his idea about alien food.
But when we opened the refrigerator, all we saw were a bunch of cold cuts, a half-empty carton of milk, a bottle of catsup, and two six packs of beer.
"He sure doesn't eat like an alien," said Peter. "Are you sure this guy is from another planet?"
"Let's go upstairs," I said. "I'll show you the thing I saw him talking into."
Peter closed the refrigerator door. But before he would leave the room he insisted on checking the cupboards. He even opened the peanut butter jar to see if it really had peanut butter in it, and not some kind of extraterrestrial goo.
The second floor had three rooms. I had high hopes for the bathroom; I thought we might find some sort of weird shampoo there or something. But it was as disappointing as the kitchen. Even the medicine cabinet was filled with typical brand nanae items.
"Do you think Mr. Smith really uses Excedrin?" asked Peter. "Or is this just here to convince people he's a teacher?"
"If he was stocking his house to fool snoopers, he'd have put in some furniture," I said.
The only place where we found anything even remotely alien was the room where I had seen Broxholm talking to the man on the ship. The two speakers that looked like pieces of flat plastic were still hanging on the wall. I looked under the dressing table, and found the switch Broxholm had used to tune in his ship. I reached out to touch it, then pulled my hand back. What if I somehow turned it on and the man from the ship saw Peter and me standing there?
"Come on/' said Peter. "We might as well go."
"You don't believe me anymore, do you?" I asked sadly.
Peter shrugged. "This place is kind of weird, what with no furniture and everything. But there's nothing that would make anyone think Mr. Smith is an alien. I believe that you believe what you told me. But whether it's true or not ..." He shrugged and turned to leave the room.
"Wait," I said, following him into the hall. "We still didn't try that door."
Peter swung his flashlight in the direction I was pointing.
"It's just the attic," he said.
I knew that; I could tell by how narrow the door was. But that wasn't the point.
"So what if it's the attic?" I said. "Maybe Broxholm has something packed away up there. Come on, Peter. We've gone this far. We can't give up now."
"Oh, all right," said Peter. He opened the door and started up the stairway. When he got about halfway up the stairs his head passed the level of the attic floor. I was walking so close that I bumped into him when he stopped.
"What is it?" I whispered.
When he didn't answer me, I pushed my way up beside him and cried out in horror.
CHAPTER NINE - The Force Field in the Attic
For a long time neither of us said a word.
"Is she alive?" I asked at last.
Peter didn't answer me.
"Peter," I hissed, pinching his arm. "Do you think she's alive?"
Peter turned to me. I could see his face in the blue glow that came from the thing in the center of the attic. His eyes were glazed and blank. I wasn't sure whether he even knew I was there.
"Peter!" I hissed.
He shook his head. "You weren't kidding, were you?"
"Of course I wasn't kidding!"
"But do you know what this means?"
"Yeah. It means we're in big trouble. Now let's get up there and see if we can figure out what's going on."
"An alien!" said Peter, his voice filled with awe. "Mr. Smith is an alien! We're not alone!"
"What are you talking about?" I hissed.
"Intelligent aliens. Mankind is not alone in the universe."
"Well, I'm feeling pretty alone right now," I said. "Are you going to help me or not?"
Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Suddenly his awe turned to fear. "Oh, my God," he said. "What if Mr. Smith catches us here?"
I rolled my eyes. "Why do you think I've been so scared all night, you yo-yo?"
Suddenly I realized what was going on. "You never did believe me, did you?" I said angrily. "You thought this was all just a joke!"
Peter shook his head. "I believed you," he said. "But I didn't really understand what it meant until—well, until I believed it this way." He shrugged helplessly. "I can't explain it," he said.
It didn't make any difference. I understood. He was feeling the way I felt when I saw Broxholm take his face off.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get up there."
Despite my brave words, I climbed the rest of those stairs pretty slowly. Peter climbed up beside me. Standing side by side, we stared at the terrible thing we had found.
In the center of the attic was a column of blue light. It was about three feet across, and stretched from the floor to the peak of the ceiling. And in the center of it stood—Ms. Schwartz. Her eyes were wide open, but they hadn't blinked once in all the time we had been looking at her. Her frizzy black hair was standing straight out from her head, as if she was getting some kind of horrible shock. Her hands were at her sides, palms forward, fingers separated.
I looked carefully, but I couldn't tell if she was breathing.
"Is she alive?" I asked again.
"I don't know," said Peter. "It's hard to tell."
We stepped forward. Ms. Schwartz didn't move. The air smelled funny. My hair started to move by itself. I could feel a strange tingling on my skin.
"It's a force field," said Peter, taking another step forward.
I Anew he was the right person to bring with me. Only a person who read that much science fiction would know what to call something like this. Now if he only knew what to do about it!
Unfortun
ately, he didn't.
"If I could figure out where it came from, maybe I could turn it off," he told me. "But I don't see any equipment. Besides, I'd be afraid of hurting Ms. Schwartz."
I nodded. "Do you think she's OK in there?" I asked, blinking back a tear.
How had Broxholm done this to her?
Maybe the handsome creep had tricked her into going out on a date with him. What a treat—a date with an alien. I could just imagine his line: Let's go see a film. Then I'll take you back to my house and lock you in a force field.
What a rat!
"Oh, Ms. Schwartz," I moaned. "What are we going to do?"
I couldn't stand seeing her trapped like that. I stepped forward and tried to reach out to touch her.
"Don't!" cried Peter, when he saw what I was doing. But it was too late. I had already laid my hands against the blue light. I felt a tingle run through my body. For a terrible instant I thought I was going to be drawn into the force field, too. But it didn't happen.
What did happen was I heard a voice inside my head. Susan, don't worry about me. You've got to warn the others!
It was Ms. Schwartz.
"Peter!" I yelled. "Come here. Touch the force field. You can hear Ms. Schwartz!"
I suppose it sounded crazy. But by this time he was ready to believe anything. He pushed through the heavy air that surrounded the force field and put his hands next to mine on the column of light.
Hello, Peter, said Ms. Schwartz.
"Telepathy!" whispered Peter in awe. "These guys are amazing."
Yes, they are, said Ms. Schwartz inside our heads. Amazing, and dangerous.
"What do they want?" I asked.
You! she said.
I yelled and jumped back from the force field. The air around me felt so thick. It was hard to move through it. I realized I had lost my connection with Ms. Schwartz. Pushing forward, I pressed my hands back against the force field.
I'm sorry, said Ms. Schwartz. I didn't mean to frighten you.
I looked at her face. Her eyes were staring straight ahead. It was weird to hear her voice inside my head when she was standing there like that, looking as if she had been frozen.
Don't worry about me, she said. Your job right now is to warn the others.
"Warn them of what?" asked Peter.
About Broxholm! His mission here is to find five students to take back with him. He plans to select the best, the worst, and the three most average kids.
"What's he going to do with them?" I asked.
The voice inside my head sounded worried. I
don't know for sure. The plan is to bring them
back here and head out into space on the night of May twenty-sixth.
"But that's next week!" I cried.
Ms. Schwartz moaned. I didn't know so much time had gone by, she whispered inside our heads. I can't keep track inside here. Listen, you have to unmask him somehow. If you don't, you're all in terrible danger.
Just then we heard the front door open and close.
Talk about terrible danger.
Broxholm was back!
CHAPTER TEN - Solo Effort
My mouth went dry. My hands started shaking. Peter's eyes were so wide they looked like ping- pong balls.
Shhh! cautioned Ms. Schwartz. Don't make a sound.
I appreciated the advice, but I had already figured that much out on my own.
What are we going to dol I thought.
To my surprise, Ms. Schwartz answered me.
Wait till he reports in, she said. Then you can sneak out.
Did you just read my mind{I thought.
fust the message you sent me, she replied.
That was a relief! There's a lot going on inside my head that I don't want anyone to know about— not even Ms. Schwartz.
I looked around the attic. If Broxholm came up here we were sunk. I couldn't see a single thing to hide behind.
Suddenly I heard that horrible music again.
"This is our chance/' I whispered. "He must be in his dressing room. I bet he's taking off his face and getting ready to report to the ship."
"Then let's go," said Peter.
"Wait," I said desperately. "What about Ms. Schwartz? We can't leave her here like this!"
You have to, she thought at us. I'm all right for the time being. The best thing you can do for me is unmask the aliem
I still hesitated.
GO7 she shouted inside my head. The message was so powerful I staggered back from the force field.
Casting a last look over my shoulder, I took Peter's hand. He didn't pull away. This wasn't romance, it was terror. Each of us needed someone to hold on to as we sneaked down the stairway.
When we reached the bottom, Peter opened the door as quietly as he could. The tiny click was lost in the awful screech of the alien music. Moving slowly, he peered around the edge. "No one in sight," he whispered.
"Then let's go!"
My heart was pounding in my ears. I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my life. I had a feeling Broxholm would jump out and grab us at any second. For one horrible instant I wondered if the mirror on his dressing table might be at the right
angle to show our reflections as we stepped out of the attic. I imagined him racing into the hallway, his Mr. Smith face hanging down around his chin, ready to turn us into a pair of puddles on the floor—or whatever a person from his planet did to kids he caught snooping in his attic.
The screeching music continued.
Still moving slowly, Peter closed the door behind us. That seemed like a waste of time, until I realized he was afraid that if he didn't secure it, the door might swing open after he let go of it.
One noise like that and we were dead meat.
Dropping to our hands and knees, we crawled along the edge of the wall. I couldn't help it—when I was opposite the door of Broxholm's room, I glanced in. Broxholm was sitting there, peeling off his face. I prayed that he wouldn't see me, and crept forward.
We slid down the stairs, slipped out the front door, and ran for all we were worth. After about three blocks we stopped to catch our breath. But not for long. In addition to everything else, I was worried that since Broxholm was back my parents might be home, too.
But when we reached my house I could see that I had made it back first. That wasn't too surprising. My folks often stayed to gab with the other parents after the formal meeting was over. It was even possible that the meeting was still going on, and Broxholm had managed to slip out early.
Peter walked me to my door. I thought that was brave of him—especially when I watched him walk off into the darkness and realized how frightened I would be if I had to go home alone. That skinny kid had more courage than anyone I knew.
As for me, I was terrified. I went around and turned on every light in the house. (Don't ask me what good I thought that would do. All I know is it made me feel better.) Then I sat in the living room, waiting for my parents to come home and worrying that Broxholm might show up first.
All in all, I decided it had been a good night's work. Even if I hadn't found anything to prove my story, at least one other person now knew what was going on. Even more important, we had found Ms. Schwartz.
But what should we do now?
The crucial thing was to reveal Broxholm for what he really was. But how could we do that without getting turned into puddles on the floor? Our only advantage was that he didn't know we knew his secret. If we could make whatever we did seem innocent, he might not guess what we were up to.
Of course, the most obvious thing was just to pull off his mask.
But how do you pull a mask off an alien's face?
I spent the whole night trying to find the courage to do what I knew I had to do the next day.
Mr. Bamwick had scheduled me for an extra lesson that morning. As usual, Smith/Broxholm shuddered when he saw me pick up my piccolo. Let him shudder! If he kidnapped me, maybe I'd play the piccolo all the way to the next galaxy.
The reason for the extra lesson was that Bam- Boom wanted me to work on a solo he had asked me to play for the spring concert. We were doing the greatest march of all time, "The Stars and Stripes Forever" by John Philip Sousa. (If you don't know it, you should go to your library and get a record of it so you can listen to it. It's great.) Anyway, the highpoint of the march is this incredibly neat, incredibly difficult piccolo solo.
Mr. Bamwick had told me way back in February that he had wanted our band to do this march for seven years. He said he had just been waiting until he had a piccolo player good enough to handle the solo, and now he thought he had one. Me.
I was flattered that he had so much faith in me. The problem was, I didn't have that much faith in me. Oh, I could do most of the solo right—most of the time. But there was one trill near the end that I always messed up. Let me tell you, if you're going to play something in concert you don't want to get it almost right. You want it perfect.
My Teacher Is an Alien Page 4